Collateral Damage
by solveariddle
Summary: This story takes place in an alternate universe. There is no Lightman Group. Cal and Gillian both still work for the Pentagon instead. Their path's cross when they are part of a classified operation that puts them in mortal danger.
1. This is how it ends

**A/N: **This is my new story. Multi-chaptered angst, plot-driven, and with lots of Callian, of course. **Timeline-wise the story is set sometime before Season One. It's a slightly adjusted universe, though, in which there is no Lightman Group and Cal and Gillian both still work for the Pentagon. **That's all you have to keep in mind reading it. The rest should (hopefully) be self-explanatory. As to the other characters, I'm not sure as yet if or how they will be part of this universe. The development of the story will tell me what to do, I guess. And now...enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **No copyright infringement intended. LTM and its characters belong to FOX.

* * *

_- Prologue: This is how it ends -_

* * *

They say that in the minutes before you die, you remember pieces of your life. Things that happened. Special or maybe just random moments. Dr. Gillian Foster would beg to differ.

It is possible or even likely that she is going to die. She has never seen explosive in real life before. Let alone at such short range and in the hands of the man she trusts more than anybody else. Nevertheless, or rather because of that, her mind is blank. There are no thoughts or memories whatsoever distracting her from what is for sure the most gruesome situation she has ever been in throughout her entire life although there were some situations during the last weeks that came close. How did it happen so fast? How did her life get completely out of control?

Gillian wants to speak, but there is a lump in her throat. She wants to move, but there are invisible weights pinning her down on the spot. Not that she wants to move and get out even if this would be the only logical thing to do. It would mean to leave him behind, however, and that's the one thing she can't do. Won't.

She hears cars arrive and come to a halt with squealing tires outside. He was right. They are here. For him. Her whole body starts to shake. Until moments ago, there was a last straw of hope that he was wrong, that there was no danger to their lives. She could have talked him out of his plan that felt like a complete overreaction, but now – hearing several men jump out of the cars, shouting at each other – she knows that they are running out of time.

They have come a long way. From strangers to friends to whatever they are to each other these days. Was it really presumptuous of her to hope that they could somehow stay in each other's lives once this crude aberration from normalcy would be over? Apparently, it was. Right now, it feels as if there will be no normalcy for them anymore. Ever.

Because this is how it all ends.

The men are already at the front door. They don't care about attracting attention, don't have to. No one will come to save them in time. The men are for sure armed and they have only one agenda – killing the man in front of her. They don't care about her. If she stands in the line of fire, though, she will be killed, too. That's why he came up with this silly idea of explosive. First she thought he wanted to use it as defense, but his face and behavior told her otherwise. Well, in a way, it is a defense. The only one he could think of. Simple math. A trade. His life for hers. If he is dead, it will be over. If he lives, she also is in constant danger because once they realize what she means to him, they will use it.

"Gillian," Cal reaches out to touch her until he realizes that he is the mad man with the explosive in this scenario and pulls his hand back. "You have to leave now."

How can his voice be so calm and gentle, considering what is about to happen?

The front door is solid. It will take them a few minutes to break it, but that is all that is left. A few minutes. And she thought about sharing the rest of her life with him.

"There has to be another way," Gillian somehow manages to choke the words out. "You can't do that. I won't let you."

There is an endless sadness in his eyes.

"Sorry, luv. If you have a better idea, let me know." His voice quavers, and only now, she notices that his hands are shaking. Badly. The hands that are holding the explosive. Oh God!

"They want _me_ dead, not _you_," Cal says tiredly but determined, ignoring his shaking hands. "So I will be."

For a brief moment, and despite the absurdity of the mere idea, she considers trying to convince him to kill himself in another way. Then she realizes that this is the only way he will be able to take at least some of them with him. If he has to go out, he will go with a bang. Literally. That's the way he is.

"Don't do this," she begs, tearing up.

He clenches his teeth. _I have to. _There is no room for negotiation.

Downstairs the men have burst open the door. They are in the building now. It is a huge, abandoned building, many floors to check. Nonetheless, it will take them no more than a couple of minutes to find them since they are on the third floor.

"Here." Cal turns around and opens a window to the backyard. "This is your way out."

For a moment, Gillian forgets that she hears approaching steps, door after door being pushed open on the first floor, and gets closer to look outside. He can't be serious.

"This is too high. I can't just jump out," she stumbles confused.

"See that?" He points at a small canopy at the level of the second floor. "You only have to climb down the fire escape ladder until you reach it. Then you can lower yourself from there to the ground."

The rusty ladder doesn't inspire confidence and ends just above the canopy, but perhaps it is solid enough to withstand her weight.

Steps and shouts come closer. The men are on the second floor now.

"Go. Now," Cal urges her on. They are both standing right in front of the open window.

"No!" Gillian shakes her head. Her survival instinct tells her to do it, to climb out of the window and save herself. This decision is not a question of common sense though. She simply can't leave him.

When he realizes that, Cal steps forward so that his body practically pushes her toward the opening and beyond in the process, trying to hold the explosive as far away from her as possible with one hand whereas he is ready to catch her with his other hand. Cal wants Gillian to save herself, not fall down and get hurt. One step. Another. The window sill is lower than usual and his next step puts enough pressure on her body that she has to retreat and puts one leg over the window sill, fumbling around until one of her hands and her foot reach the fire escape ladder. She is half inside, half outside now, grabbing his shirt. At first, Cal thinks she does it to stabilize herself, but then she pulls him closer and closer until he has no other choice than to embrace her with his free arm unless he wants to rip off her hand from his shirt.

He doesn't want to do it, doesn't want to be so close to her with the explosive in his hand. Cal doesn't want to put it down either though, needs to have it ready for use whenever the men get in. Let alone that he is quite sure she would try to take it away from him, given the chance. Gillian breathes fitfully, single tears leaving wet trails on his neck. Then she leans back, her facial expression still desperate but also determined. She will do whatever he asks of her. Everything that happened in the last weeks shook her view of life. Gillian might not know who to believe or trust anymore, but she believes in him.

"I love you," she didn't plan to say it; her confession hits both of them out of the blue. Once it's out, an inner calm sets in though. If this is really the end, there is no need to keep secrets. She wants him to know.

"Gill," her name is a distraught growl in the back of his throat. He loves her, too. She heard it in his voice, even in this one syllable. But he can't say it. Otherwise, Cal won't have the strength to go through with his plan anymore. He softly takes her hand that still holds on to him and puts it on the window frame.

He lets her go. She has to let go.

For a split second, there is no sound whatsoever, only the feel of his hand as it lingers before it abandons her skin.

Then hell breaks loose. There is a noise outside, louder and closer. The door to the room is about to break. Cal steps away from her into the room until she can't see him any longer. Gillian shifts her weight, grabs the fire escape ladder with both of her hands and starts to climb down with shaking knees. One step, two, three, four...

The explosion is deafening. Splinters of glass and other particles rain down on her; the heat of the fire is so intense that it slightly burns the back of her hands. It's the blast wave, though, that is the most dangerous, pushing her body off the ladder without warning. Her free fall is stopped by the canopy in between, her body spinning until it tumbles over the edge, and again, she falls and falls until her body hits the hard, concrete floor of the backyard.

_Cal._

His name is a scream on her lips, but she can't tell whether she actually screamed or if it was only an echo in her mind. The pain in her chest and bones takes her breath away. Gillian can't move. Just lays there in the backyard, staring up at the window with the splintered glass, the fire and smoke, until her vision blurs. She hears sirens in the background, birds singing, a ray of sunshine warms her face, but nothing matters anymore.

* * *

To be continued


	2. Collateral Damage

**A/N:** For the general setting of the story see the A/N of the prologue. After the literally explosive start, the upcoming chapters will explain what led to that situation before the story continues from there. So a little patience is required, but I hope it will be worth it and you don't mind.

I received some questions as to my update schedule. I aim for regular, weekly updates (most likely sometime at the weekend) as long as real life doesn't interfere.

Thank you so much for your interest and support, especially for your reviews that make my day. :)

The** usual disclaimer **applies (see prologue).

* * *

_- Collateral Damage -_

* * *

**Six weeks ago**

It has been an ordinary day in Dr. Gillian Foster's life so far. She treated patients, finished her paperwork, and did some research for an article about voice patterns she plans to publish in a renowned psychology journal. The sun sets outside; she is about to grab her bag and head out, pondering on whether to cook dinner or have her favorite Chinese take-away, when the door to her office opens and her superior, Jordan Hines, comes in.

This is no courtesy visit. First of all, because he doesn't do courtesy visits. Ever. In fact, Gillian sees him on rare occasions only, is used to work independently. Second of all... Well, she doesn't need to be an expert in reading voices to know from the words he doesn't say that something is off balance. Judging by the heavy silence that follows after he stepped in and closed the door behind him, something is utterly wrong. Hines holds on to the door handle for a brief moment until he straightens himself and turns around to look at her.

Gillian doesn't know that her superior received a message regarding the death of one of their top undercover agents two hours ago. Hines still hasn't told the agent's widow and her three children. They don't know about the details as yet. Most likely he was killed because his cover had been blown. His body was found in a bad condition in a dumpster. Tortured. Mutilated. He probably welcomed death in the end. It happens, but Hines never will get used to things like that. It's been months that the agent had been wrangled in a terrorist organization and had given them valuable information about their business ever since. Information that had become irreplaceable lately, including leads about a planned attack on public facilities. They had been so close to reveal the details necessary to prevent the attack. It would have been a matter of a couple of days at most. And now this. They had to reconsider their plans in order to act quickly. Let alone that they don't know what the agent might have told his torturers. The fallback option they came up with is far from perfect, but there is no other alternative at this point, no time to lose.

She hasn't moved, is standing next to her desk, bag and coat in her hand. He takes a few steps to get closer until he is standing right in front of her so that he can talk quietly.

"There will be an undercover assignment on short notice. One of our men will be put in prison to elicit information from an inmate."

What Hines doesn't say is that the information they hope to gather from that inmate won't help them to prevent the attack directly; it won't be information connected to it. They are going out on a limb here because they have no other choice. Their plan is quick-and-dirty blackmail to prevent the attack based on whatever helpful information will be played into their hands. A precarious plan that will hopefully somehow prevail.

"Your role is easy. You will be the link between our undercover man in prison and us."

Her cover will be the temporary substitution for the prison psychologist that got an unexpected offer for a guest professorship. She will have to be on site in prison two days per week, a few hours each time. The other psychologist didn't work full time either; not many inmates are allowed to undergo therapy, let alone agreed to do it. Gillian has to be part of the operation so that they are able to use the office of the prison psychologist as a safe place because no one at the prison will be involved for safety reasons. Even the warden doesn't know about the assignment. He was solely told that the other psychologist was urgently needed for the guest professorship and that a replacement already was found. Gillian will be given a tap-proof cell phone that the undercover agent is supposed to use each time he has a _therapy session_ to tell his contact about the information he gathered recently and to discuss the situation as well as the next steps. If the contact is not available, there is a software on the phone that allows to record voice messages. In this case, Gillian has to deliver the information afterwards. To make the cover work, Gillian has to treat the other patients (_inmates_, Gillian thinks, deliberately not asking what crimes they committed, she will find out soon enough). Well, she will treat them the best she can, but given the circumstances it will feel like forgery, anyway.

"Any questions?" Hines asks her when he is finished with his brief.

Jordan Hines has an impressive demeanor. Tall, confident, unwavering once he made a decision, and with a light tan throughout the entire year that always makes Gillian wonder if he really has time to go on vacation to look like this.

Like everyone working at the Pentagon, Gillian signed a clause that allows her superiors to assign her to any kind of approved operation, undercover or not. It just usually doesn't happen that one of the civil employees is actually asked to take part in something like that. Not _asked_, she corrects herself. No one _asked_ her if she is comfortable doing this. It's an order.

Despite the fact that she barely knows Hines, she likes him though. His job is secrets and lies, but in a way he manages to retain an aura of honesty that surrounds him.

"How long is this supposed to go on?"

He has looked at her the whole time, but only now Hines seems to really see Gillian. His facial expression doesn't change. Determined. Unwavering. But there is a hint of something else she can't quite pin down yet.

"As long as it takes."

Hines watches her narrowly. He made it sound as if the undercover operation was nothing but a simple task, but his answer confirmed that it isn't. Secrets and lies.

"So who is it? The man you will put undercover in prison. I do have to know which one of the inmates it is, don't I?"

Gillian doesn't socialize with many colleagues and highly doubts that the undercover agent is among them, considering that she tends to stick with other psychologists, but perhaps it's someone she greets in passing or sees at the lunchroom every day.

"You will refer to him as Cal Atherton."

The name means nothing to her although it for sure is not his real name. She will have to wait until she meets him to know whether she saw his face before or not.

Although he keeps feeding her with only the absolute necessary information, his answers as vague as possible, Hines lingers over leaving. That's the part Gillian likes about him. That he doesn't feel comfortable doing things like this even if it's his job.

"Any other questions?" he eventually asks.

"When will it start?"

It's worth trying although she doubts that he will give her a specific date.

"Be ready."

As expected, he doesn't give her a date, but this time she recognizes what it is that she couldn't pin down earlier when she sees another hint of it in his face. Concern and regret. And just like that her ordinary day is anything but.

* * *

On the way back to his office, Jordan Hines calls his assistant over a secure line to inform him about the necessary arrangements he has to implement. Everything about this is last-minute and although this happens more often than not, considering the sensitive issues they handle on a daily basis, this assignment brings along an especially dreadful premonition.

There were two aspects that made them choose the two people that are now the core of their undercover operation.

The first aspect was that they had to blend in well with their surroundings.

Pretending to be a prisoner is one of the most dangerous scenarios for an undercover assignment. Once the cover is blown, it is unlikely that the agent can rescue himself or be brought to safety before the other inmates take revenge. Therefore, they needed a cocky man that could hold his ground in a fight. A keen thinker with the appearance of an underdog. Underestimation as the key to survival. Plus, they needed a real psychologist because it was the simplest solution to use the psychologist's office as the place to transfer the sensitive information. Preferably a woman because the cliché is in their interest. Women are perceived less threatening, less likely to be part of such an operation. They had a few names on the list of suitable undercover agents, but there was only one name on the list of the psychologists since the other psychologists were male.

Hines didn't even remember what Gillian Foster looked like until he saw her photo in her file. But only when he went to her office and heard her speak, he knew who she was. Like her, there are many employees he barely is in contact with. Her voice though. He remembered that. She's the psychologist who is also an expert for speech patterns. He had thought this to be an interesting fact when he had interviewed her during the application process back then since Gillian Foster's voice is able to soothe his ever strained nerves, something that had never happened to him before. Hines didn't want to endanger the woman with this soft voice (_innocent_ came to his mind when he talked to her, _vulnerable, _although he actually can't tell, was judging by the sound of her voice). However, he couldn't let his worries get in the way.

Worries about the other aspect that made them choose her and the undercover agent.

The man they chose is no dark horse. He is an experienced undercover agent. Save that he constantly rubs his colleagues and superiors the wrong way. _Arrogant, self-absorbed, no team player_ were only some of the descriptions that stroke Hines eye when he read his file. _Cal Atherton_. The man is presumptuous enough to keep his real first name during his undercover assignments. As if he was untouchable. Therefore – and no matter how tragic it would be – his death would be no true loss, not least due to his reputation as a troublemaker. Despite his experience, he has no particular value for the agency. And the same goes for her.

The decision to choose them took into account that they are expandable. Acceptable collateral damage in case the assignment goes wrong.

* * *

**- To be continued -**

_Ever since I re-watched "Captives" with Tim Roth (a movie in which he plays an inmate who falls in love with the prison doctor), I have been wanting to write a LTM story with a similar scenario. Seems as if I've finally found a way to do it. ;) __I hope you like the idea and enjoy the story so far._

_Next chapter: Gillian and "Undercover Cal" meet for the first time._


	3. Nothing To Fear

**A/N:** For the general setting of the story see the A/N of the prologue. In this chapter, Cal and Gillian meet for the first time. It was a challenge and very interesting to write them under these different circumstances. I imagined them being a little younger (given the timeline) and edgier as they are on the show but hope that I still managed to stay in character. As to the prison I mention here – I did some research and made some things up, hoping that the mix will be plausible.

Thank you so much for reading and reviewing. There is no greater reward. And this also goes for the guest reviewers since I can't get back to you personally.

The** usual disclaimer **applies (see prologue).

* * *

_- Nothing To Fear -_

* * *

_Be ready_, her superior had told her and it had sounded as if the operation would start the next day, but nothing happened. The following days, Gillian came to work more modestly dressed than on a regular day because she didn't want to show up in prison in her usual tight skirts and high heels. On the fourth day, though, she has no other choice than to get even more dressed up. Her fiancé has an important business meeting in the evening. He wants her to accompany him and her schedule doesn't allow her enough time to get home and change clothes after work. Alec works as a policy adviser. His career is at a crucial point. The indications grow stronger that it will be a matter of sink or swim in the foreseeable future. Therefore, every public event is also an application and having a good-looking woman at his side who has her own successful career might tip the scales in his favor.

Gillian can't tell Alec about the assignment for security reasons. It is eating away at her. She doesn't know what will happen, is afraid that she could be in danger because she saw the worry in the face of her superior although he tried to hide it. Yet, she can't say anything and just wishes it will be over soon. Even more than the fact that she can't unburden herself to her fiancé, though, Gillian hates to keep secrets, or worse, have to lie. And that was what she had to do this morning when Alec reminded her of the important meeting. _Thankfully_ reminded her because she would have forgotten about it otherwise. She – the queen of structure and organization. Alec should have noticed that something was going on, but he already was caught up in thinking about the upcoming meeting. So when she realized that she would have to get dressed for the meeting right then and there and hesitated, he got frustrated and angry instead of worried because he wrongly assumed she didn't want to accompany him. It didn't take much to convince him of the contrary – only a few kisses and soothing words – but unlike on other days when they had an argument (and it seems to happen more and more often lately), she wasn't able to calm down afterwards. The tension is still trapped within her and she doesn't know whether it's due to the assignment or for personal reasons.

_Of course_, it has to be this day of all days that she receives a call at noon, informing her to cancel her appointments for the rest of the day and drive to the Federal Correctional Institution Cumberland to have her first workday there, so to speak. On the way to her car, Gillian realizes that she not only is completely inappropriately dressed but that she also is going to miss Alec's meeting. The journey to Maryland alone will take up to two hours, depending on traffic.

She doesn't have to make an effort to let her voice sound regretful when she calls him, telling him something about an unexpected, urgent meeting she has to attend. Gillian actually regrets that she can't be with him. Still, she wants to make sure that he suspects nothing and overdoes it a bit so that – another time – Alec should have noticed it and be worried, but just like in the morning his own frustration prevents that. All she hears in his voice is barely suppressed anger and (even worse) disappointment.

"Really, Gillian? You can't skip _one_ meeting to be with me? You know how important it is. Are you aware that you choose your work over us?"

It is a recurring subject during their arguments. The alleged fact that she appreciates her work too much, implying that she appreciates it more than their relationship, more than him. It's simply not true. Gillian likes working as a psychologist very much, thinks of it rather as a calling than a mere job. But their relationship always has been her first priority. If anything, she could reverse the accusation because Alec has been doing a lot of overtime recently, but she doesn't want to add fuel to the fire by pointing out that he obviously has double standards. She sighs.

"Alec, I..."

Gillian hates to hurt him and hates even more that his behavior hurts her in return since she can't tell him what this really is about. She needs his support, too, and has to deal with his rejection on top of everything else instead.

"Gilly, I need you tonight," he interrupts her.

It's a last, desperate effort. His voice is honest. This is not only about politics and his career. This is personal. Alec needs the woman he loves at his side. The woman he wants to marry. They live together; he proposed three months ago. She wears the engagement ring, but they haven't talked about getting married ever since, let alone made any plans. _Not this year _has become an unspoken agreement between them. Somehow, something else always seems to be more important. Gillian suddenly realizes that they are on a dangerous path. If they want to avoid alienation, they both need to change their focus away from _something else_ back toward themselves.

_I need you, too._ The words are stuck in her throat; she has to swallow them down before she is able to speak.

"I have to do this, Alec," she says. "Believe me, I would be with you if I had a choice."

He only snorts in return.

"I'll make up for it."

"See you at home," he replies curtly before he hangs up.

* * *

Gillian visited prisons before to evaluate inmates. Yet, the atmosphere gets to her every time anew. She's not claustrophobic, but the imagination not to be able to leave of her own accord, being surrounded by the same gray concrete walls every day, makes her shudder. A prison guard meets her at the entrance and leads her to the administrative sector. He doesn't comment on her clothes although she notices his disapproval as a guard even if he obviously appreciates it as a man. She doesn't explain because she can't since no one in here knows about the assignment. All they know is that she is the substitute, covering for the temporarily absent psychologist who usually works here. At least they don't have to go through the sectors where the inmates have their jail cells to get to the administrative sector; Gillian feels uncomfortable enough as it is, the gazes of the other guards making her skin prickle.

The office of the psychologist is surprisingly tasty furnished. Warm colors and love for detail. Relieved, Gillian sits down behind the desk. Maybe this will work after all. It will only be a few hours per week and all she has to do is her job. Well, mainly.

Her first two patients are regular inmates. It is a medium-security prison; so she doesn't have to expect the worst crime-wise.

According to his file, the first one was sentenced for a white-collar crime and malicious injury. He is an educated, eloquent man, someone Gillian can imagine to meet at a party. For a brief moment, she has to pull herself together so as not to space out, pondering on what might have happened in his life that made him go astray and led him here. Because of his confession and mitigating circumstances, he was allowed to continue therapy in prison. The man still deals with the death of his mother and the rejection of his father during his childhood. Things he for sure doesn't want the other inmates to find out. Gillian skims the entries. The other psychologist did a good job therapy-wise as well as regarding an accurate documentation. It won't be difficult to continue the treatment although it always takes a while for patient and therapist to adjust to each other. Time they probably won't have (and despite her bad conscience she hopes they won't because that means the operation will be over soon). As a psychologist, she resents the thought that the patients might suffer a disadvantage due to the personnel back-and-forth. She has no influence on it, though; so she tries not to think too much about it. When the session starts, Gillian has to concentrate to make herself forget about his orange overall, constantly reminding her of the unusual situation, but after a few minutes her experience gains the upped hand. Years of practice are a routine she can always rely on.

Her second patient is not as easy. A friendly man, almost harmless in appearance despite being tall and muscular. But when she checks his file, Gillian finds out that he was sentenced for attempted murder. His therapy is part of the conviction. He used to have fits of rage that ultimately led to the murder attempt. Now his medication, accompanied by therapy, takes at least the edge off his outbursts. Gillian is thankful that, unlike her other patient, he has to wear handcuffs. She also realizes that the guard in front of her door not only takes the inmates from their cells to her office and back. He is also there for security reasons. To protect her. This time, it is more difficult to forget about the circumstances and treat the man properly.

* * *

And then it's showtime. Cal Atherton, the undercover agent, is next. When he comes in, Gillian has to suppress a laugh. He is about her height, strolling like a defiant teenager, slouching on the couch as if he considers coming back later to watch his favorite TV show and have some popcorn. But then his facial expression changes. He springs to his feet, approaching her, and her smile freezes. They are supposed to be on the same side. In an instant she knows, though, that this man is dangerous, his eccentric behavior merely a cover to make his enemies underestimate him. Instinctively, she looks at the door, reminding herself that there is a guard outside. Then she becomes aware that he is not a real inmate, catches her breath, and straightens herself mentally. She doesn't have to be afraid of him.

"Nervous, luv? Nothing to fear here, aye."

Gillian doesn't even know where to begin. She should reprimand him for calling her that. _Luv_. What is this accent, anyway? Scottish? British? He tries very hard to overdo it to make it even more difficult for her to place it. Actually, it sounds very sexy, and for some reason, she knows that he does it just for fun. To irritate her. It is working. His behavior rattles her much more than it should. She expected a serious looking man who would be all business, not someone who acts as if it all is a game.

He looks at her and reaches out his hand, his palm turned upwards, a scornful grin on his face. What does he want now? Obviously, he saw right through her. Recognized her as the rookie she is when it comes to things like that. Undercover operations. Secret assignments. Things that are his territory, given his self-confident, almost arrogant, behavior but not hers. Not even close.

She remembers that she needs to put him in his place. He is not her patient; she is not his therapist. Nonetheless, she won't allow him to use a term of endearment when talking to her. But before she can say anything, he kind of interrupts her in advance.

"The phone, luv," he points out, waving his outstretched hand to underline his words.

Damnit! The bug-proof phone. She is supposed to give it to him as soon as he arrives, his contact most likely already waiting for his call. Gillian fumbles around in her bag until she finds it and gives it to him, her need to reprimand him taking a backseat. They have bigger fish to fry.

He turns around, taking a few steps away from her as if that would make the call more private. She will hear every word, anyway, since they are still in the same room. Only when he keeps talking, Gillian realizes that she doesn't know what to do. She should have brought a crossword puzzle or a book. She inspects the collection of specialist books on the shelf and then sits back down behind her desk. He is still talking, looking at her in between, making her wonder whether he has been doing this the entire time. Something tells her he has. He winks at her, smiling, and before she can stop herself, she smiles back at him. What on earth is she doing? It is her first assignment as part of an undercover operation and here she is flirting when she felt offended only moments ago. Her emotions and reactions are all over the place. Gillian turns the page of her notebook and starts to write a grocery list. Anything to appear busy, _professional_. She can do this. _Milk. Yogurt. Olives. Cheese. _

Suddenly she realizes that he stopped talking, already standing in front of her desk, turning his head so that he can read what she wrote down. Gillian flips the notebook shut, but it is already too late. He saw her grocery list.

"Put a point steak on it," he says. "Food here is a real disappointment."

Like the other inmates, he wears the latest fashion – the usual orange, short-sleeved overall. There is a tattoo on his upper arm she can see partly when he moves. Gillian doesn't like tattoos. Usually. Somehow, this one appeals to her.

"Like what you see?" His smile has turned into a grin again. Predatory.

Again, he saw through her. Effortlessly. How does he do that? Gillian has a reputation to be able to wear the perfect pokerface. In fact, that is the reason she won most of the poker games at college. Neither of her patients or colleagues know what she is thinking whenever she studies them. He not only is the first to find out. He did it in what felt like seconds. Gillian feels very uncomfortable all at once, almost naked under his scrutinizing look. Metaphorically speaking, of course. This has to stop.

She stands up and reaches out her hand.

"I'm Dr. Gillian Foster. Nice to meet you, Mr. Atherton. Now that we've established in spades that I am the lesser-experienced of us, maybe we find a way to kill time until your official therapy session is over." She glimpses at her watch. They have 20 minutes left of the usual 50-minute session. "Unless you want my advise as a psychologist, that is, but somehow I doubt that."

Touché! For the first time, she sees something close to respect in his eyes. When he moves to sit down, she does the same. It feels as if they agreed to a truce.

"So tell me something about yourself, Dr. Foster," he asks. There is still some smug complacency in his voice but mostly interest. Unfortunately, he takes more interest in her than she prefers. "Something I don't already know like the facts that you are a real psychologist, engaged and intrigued with my tattoo."

She simply should stop counting the times he is able to do a number on her. It's 5:1 in his favor and he keeps winning, threw the _Dr. Foster _she used as an introduction to distance herself back at her, eager to point out that he noticed it all – the engagement ring, the way she gazed at his tattoo. It makes her wonder what else he saw and hasn't pointed out yet.

Gillian sighs resignedly, leans back, and folds her arms. It was fun when it started and felt like flirting in spite of his cocky behavior and the surreal circumstances. Right now, though, he behaves like a spoiled child that can't get enough attention. Ok then, no truce.

"What is your favorite color?"

He is surprised by the unexpected question but answers anyway, "Blue."

"Truth or dare?"

This makes him grin broadly. He raises his eyebrows. "Wanna play?"

"Just choose," she keeps her voice steady.

He starts to wriggle about on his chair. Good. This is making him uncomfortable because he doesn't know what she is up to. He answers after a brief pause, "Truth."

"Are you married? Do you have children?"

The pokerface that usually is her field of expertise? He has one, too. A pretty good one, actually. He is wearing it right now because she overstepped a line, did it on purpose. Asking an undercover agent about his family is inappropriate and intrusive at least, if not dangerous. Since they are in her office that is considered safe ground, she took the risk though. He deserves it.

"Not married. No children."

She can tell that he didn't want to answer that one but didn't want to give in either. Gillian unfolds her arms and leans forward. She doesn't need to ask more questions, received enough information by now.

"I don't know what your favorite color is, but it's not blue. You wouldn't choose truth over dare. Your answer about being married was a bit inconclusive. Therefore I think you are separated or divorced but haven't come to terms with your past yet. You definitely have children though."

He stares at her and she realizes that she not only overstepped the invisible line regarding his private life; he is obviously under the impression that she erased it. There is pure anger in his eyes. He doesn't have to say anything; she feels threatened, anyway.

"How do you do it?" It's a question, but it sounds more like a growl. He forces the words out through his clenched teeth. It's also an admission that she read him right. Each question she asked, he answered with a lie and she caught him each time.

"I'm a voice expert," she explains. "I am able to detect even the slightest changes in a person's intonation. Among other things, it tells me whether someone is lying or telling the truth. Of course, I only know _that_ someone is lying not _why_."

He doesn't take the bait. Whether he lied just for fun, on principle, or simply because he didn't want her to know anything about him – she'll probably never know. Either way, her explanation seems to have mitigated his anger, perhaps even intrigued him a little. That's interesting. Ordinary people tend to assail her with questions about how she does it. His quiet but interested reaction is one she is used to from other scientists, matching the information with their own scientific expertise first before they quiz her about more details.

"I could ask you the same," she probes him. "How you do it. Reading people, noticing things in a split second."

It's a peace offer. He admitted that she read him right; so she did the same. But there is no visible reaction; he doesn't want her to know. At least not yet. She holds his gaze while he keeps staring at her. Nonetheless, the atmosphere in the room has changed. She felt like the tolerated sidekick in a testosterone game when he entered the room, like the required good-looking female in the middle of a male dominated operation. Albeit she knows nearly nothing about him, he doesn't seem to be the kind of man who disrespects women and treats them as a nice accessory even if he, considering the way he behaved in between, for sure is used to be successful when it comes to alluring women with his aggressive, presumptuous style. So that's what he probably saw in her when he entered the room. A woman he could impress with his usual, cocky behavior because her role in all this is only to be there and give him the phone. And somehow, her performance put her in another category. One that seems to intrigue him and make him wary of her at the same time. First it was him who did all the talking, but now their roles seem to be reversed. Now, it's her.

"You don't have to answer that," Gillian says, "but my point is – we can sit here every time, competing who is better at reading the other, playing games and checking our scorecards, or we can try to get along which I would prefer."

There is a knock at the door. The guard. Time is up, but he doesn't move.

"You should dress differently next time. Some of the men in here haven't seen a woman for quite a while and you wouldn't want them thinking about you _that way_ even more than they already will once they saw you."

Not only the atmosphere but something in his voice has changed, too. The accent and self-confidence are still there. He sounds respectful, though, as if he actually cares. That's why she doesn't feel offended by his remark but rather...protected.

"I know. Let's say that today was bad timing."

That puts a smile on his face.

"Not that I don't appreciate it. Beautiful woman. Beautiful dress," he doesn't break eye contact saying this, and just like that, they are back to flirting albeit it feels different this time, more serious.

Another knock. "Dr. Foster? I have to take Atherton back to his cell."

"Just a moment," she replies.

Cal Atherton, or whatever his name is, caught her attention the moment he walked into her office, but for the first time their encounter doesn't feel like a challenge. It doesn't feel comfortable as yet, but something tells her that _comfortable_ is a word that doesn't exist in Cal Atherton's vocabulary. At least not on a regular day.

"Ask me again about my favorite color next time," he says, standing up. "You were wrong. It's blue. As of today."

Gillian doesn't understand what he means until his grin gets broader another time and he raises his eyebrows appreciatively. Her eyes. That's what he referred to. She blushes and shakes her head, unable to bite back a smile. He actually is disarmingly nonchalant.

"Nice to meet you, Dr. Foster. Can't wait for our next appointment." He is already walking toward the door so that she can't see his facial expression anymore. Yet, she heard it in his voice. Smug, of course.

He was her last appointment for today. The silence in her office after he left is oppressive, as if the empty space demanded his return. Gillian stays for a while, pretending that she has to do some paperwork, before she calls the guard to walk her out. In fact, she needed time to compose herself. She is aware that she should be afraid or at least on guard because of the circumstances, but instead she is breathless with excitement.

_Nice to meet you, Dr. Foster. Can't wait for our next appointment._

Neither can she.

* * *

**- To be continued -**

_You probably noticed that Gillian's last name in this story is Foster although she and Alec are only engaged (I didn't want them to be married for obvious reasons). It's because I couldn't imagine her having another name. I have no idea as yet what that means for Alec's last name. Perhaps he doesn't even need one in this story. ;) I also decided to include, or at least mention, Emily and Zoe. They probably won't be an active part of the story, at least for now, more like a background scenario for Cal._


	4. The Calm Before The Storm

**A/N:** For the general setting of the story see the A/N of the prologue. I always imagined Cal and Gillian having a strong bond right from the beginning. So that's what I'm trying to build in this chapter, albeit under different circumstances. I hope it works. Something else happens in this chapter, too, or is announced at least (it is the first of some plot twists I have in mind so be prepared for cliffhangers). ;)

Thank you so much for your support and reviews. It bears repeating.

The** usual disclaimer **applies (see prologue).

* * *

_- The Calm Before The Storm -_

* * *

It's like a surgical intervention without a scalpel. The undercover agent, Cal Atherton, is getting under her skin slowly but surely, invading her thoughts at any time. It's been two ½ weeks that Gillian started to _treat_ him, meaning that she serves as cover so that he can call his contact and exchange information. Sometimes she just sits there, listening with half an ear, and sometimes she busies herself with reading a book or solving a crossword puzzle. From what she overheard during the phone calls, she can tell that the operation is not very successful so far. By now, though, her assignment almost has taken a backseat.

* * *

During their second encounter, they agreed upon some basic rules.

_Don't call me luv. _

_- But it's completely innocent._

_For sure. Just don't._

_- Aye. If that's what you want. _

_Thank you._

_- What about darling?_

And that's the main point. There are no rules when he is involved although he eventually accepted her wish and only addresses her by name. When it comes to her love life, Gillian Foster is an ordinary woman. She fell in and out of love, had affairs and even a few one-night stands, but this... this is different. Gillian knows by now that she never met him at work before. She would remember by all means. You can't overlook or forget someone like him – someone who exudes such intensity, claims her undivided attention due to his sheer presence whenever they are in the same room, and moreover, focuses his attention solely on her as soon as his phone call is over. It is exciting, bordering on uncomfortable. But at the bottom line, he fascinates her. Plain and simple. That certainly was not supposed to be part of her assignment. However, she can't help it.

* * *

During their third encounter, she addressed his _talent_ again. The way he reads people as if they offered every information, every thought they were trying to hide, freely.

_How do you do it? How do you read people? I have a vague, scientific idea how it might work, but I have no idea how you actually do it._

_- You're curious; I like that._

_So tell me._

_- Check out the library at work._

_A book? What's the title? Did you write it?_

_- Just check it out. You'll find it._

The next day, she went to the library. Since he hadn't given her a title, she ran a search for authors, starting with Atherton, even if she was aware that it's not his real name. No results came up. Then she tried his first name and found several books. One about the force of gravity, one about data encryption standards, and one about micro expressions, written by a Dr. Cal Lightman. Bingo. That had to be his book. The edition notice included a remark that the book was an intern pre-publication and hadn't been officially published yet. There are only five copies; the book can't be bought, only borrowed from the internal library. That's what she did and whipped through it in no time. It's brilliant. Of course. As brilliant as he is. What else did she expect?

On top of this, she knows his real name now since it's very unlikely that he used an alias for an intern pre-publication. Everything inside those walls is confidential; he doesn't have to be afraid that it endangers one of his undercover operations. At least as long as he doesn't willingly offer the information in the middle of such an operation. As he did with her albeit she brushes aside the thought what it implies for now. However, the name fits. _Lightman_. The man who wants to _enlighten_ people with his findings. Somehow, she had sensed that there was more to him and was rewarded with the fact that deep down beneath his unpredictable attitude exists a gifted, serious scientist. A highly intelligent mind. Sexy. And as to his first name... Gillian had liked it right from the beginning, had hoped that it is his real name. It makes for a nice echo in her head when she imagines herself say it. _Cal_.

She is aware that he is attracted to her (and she is attracted to him but unlike him, she tries to hide it the best she can and either she has perfected her pokerface or he has decided not to see it). Just because she is in a relationship doesn't mean that Gillian isn't susceptible to flattery. She likes to flirt but tries to keep it within appropriate limits. Therefore, she flirts back guardedly whenever he flirts shamelessly with her albeit she always makes him stop at some point – usually after he made her blush, something that brings out the smug smile that is one of his trademarks. Aside from his strolling walk, his slouching, and his never ending repertoire of witty, and more often than not caustic, quips. And sometimes, although she wouldn't admit that out loud, sometimes she oversteps her self-made boundaries when she flirts with him. After all, this is an undercover operation. No better excuse to behave a little differently, a little more daringly. Every time she does it, she wonders whether he actually doesn't notice or prefers not to mention it.

* * *

During their forth encounter, she told him that she had found and read his book.

_That is a very interesting book you wrote. I'm impressed. _

_- Shouldn't be. Need to rewrite it._

_I don't think it needs to be rewritten but if you think so, do it and make it even better. It's an intriguing field of expertise. _

_- As is yours. Voice expert, huh? Tell me more about it._

Gillian did. He listened and asked several questions. To say he was merely interested would have been an underestimation. He was intrigued and she was under the impression that it was caused in equal shares by her field of expertise and simply by her. A mutual respect for each other's specialty developed that day that mixed with their already existing mutual attraction and built a solid basis in spite of their recent acquaintance. Neither of them brought up that he had blown his cover and revealed his actual identity by telling her about his book. Somehow, it felt right, like something they had needed to get out of the way in defiance of the general scheme of things. As if there was a parallel plan for them that has nothing to do with their assignment.

* * *

It is their fifth encounter, therapy session, whatever name suits their undercover meetings. This time his phone call was extremely short and he doesn't look happy at all. When it is finished, Cal slouches on the chair in front of her desk. Gillian puts her book down. By now, they have fallen into some kind of routine. The phone call is work, and after it is finished, it feels as if they share free time together, getting more and more used to one another, until the guard knocks at the door.

"Things don't work well?" Gillian has no idea whether she is allowed to ask or not, but he is the pro here. So she will let him decide whether he is allowed to answer her or not although he probably will do what he wants either way.

"Nah. They don't," he confirms exhausted, reminding her of the fact that he is locked up here, having to keep up the facade all the time. No wonder he is exhausted. Especially if things don't work well, protracting his stay.

"How do you do it?" Gillian asks softly. "Pretending to be someone else all the time with only these short breaks. I could never do that." She gives a laugh. "I'm a bad liar."

He studies her until she has to suppress the urge to shift around on her chair. "Dunno if you could do it," he eventually says. "But I think you were a good liar if you had to. Always depends on the lie. At the end of the day, we're all liars. Even the good girls."

She is not sure whether he just complimented or insulted her, and if yes, which was which. Was calling her a good girl a compliment in his book or does he prefer liars because they are more daring, more fun, and he sees through them, anyway? Or perhaps it was just a statement and she reads too much into it.

"Cal...," her voice trails off.

Up to this point, Gillian avoided to address him by name ever since she got to know his real name. Whereas he calls her _Dr. Foster_, she neither wants to call him _Mr. Atherton_ since it feels odd at this stage, nor does she want to call him _Dr. Lightman_ because even if she knows his real name, saying it out loud in here would be just wrong, as if asking for a blow of fate. Gillian hadn't meant to call him by his first name, but she has been hearing the sound of it in her head so many times lately that it came out by itself.

"It's ok. Cal it is," he says with a sincerity that relegates his usual cockiness to second place.

The situation suddenly feels strangely intimate – calling him by his first name, addressing his situation for the first time, scratching at the surface of what they do – namely telling each other more and getting closer than they should given the situation. She clears her throat.

"Then please call me Gillian," she is a little out of breath as if she just stopped running. Is it the right thing to do? Many people call her by her first name. Colleagues. Neighbors. It doesn't necessarily mean intimacy or closeness, but here and now it feels like it does.

"Why did you..." _Blow your cover to let me know who you are?_ She doesn't finish the question, rephrases instead, "Let me find your book?" _Let me know your actual name?_

"Guess I wanted you to know." A brief pause. He looks down and then up again, making eye contact. "Guess I trust you. In a situation like this you need someone you can trust or you'll go bonkers."

Now, this definitely _is_ a compliment. One she didn't expect. Gillian swallows. One thing is bothering her though.

"So you're not afraid that your assignment or your honesty puts someone else in danger?" She refers to his family and he gets it. Even if he trusts her and she won't tell anybody, you can never know. Sometimes prison walls have ears.

"They don't live here. They're... in another continent." It's the truth. She heard the slight change in his tone when he first considered to lie about their whereabouts and then decided last-minute to tell the truth, albeit vague enough to implicate no risk. "Divorced. One daughter." He doesn't tell Gillian their names and she understands. She wouldn't want to say names of her family or friends out loud inside these prison walls either.

"What about you?" Cal asks. "What about Mr. Engagement Ring? When are you going to marry?"

Gillian can't hold it against him. She opened the door for a more private conversation and he simply takes the opportunity.

"Next year." She is aware that she sounds evasive. Can't tell him an exact date because there is none. Won't be, considering the path her relationship has taken recently.

It's a good thing that Cal is no voice expert. On the other hand, he probably already read her and knows. What he doesn't know, though, is that it isn't helping her inner turmoil that she lets herself be intrigued by another man, _him. It's only a temporary setting._ That's what she tells herself whenever her thoughts develop a life of their own, thinking about Cal when she is in her office or even when she is with Alec. _It's just a distraction and will be over soon._ Cal was right. Even good girls are able to lie, if only to themselves. Then again, her relationship with Alec is on the rocks and beyond for reasons that have nothing to do with Cal. The mere notion causes her stomachache. Gillian's thoughts drift back to the evening after she met Cal Atherton, or rather _Lightman_ as she knows now, for the first time

* * *

It was late when she came home but not that late that she expected Alec to already be home, too, after his important soiree she had missed because of work. Gillian was tired after the long drive back from prison. Therefore, she didn't bother with having a late snack although she was hungry and just went upstairs in the dark. When she opened the door to the bedroom, she flinched and almost screamed because there was a huge shadow in bed. It was Alec, woken up by her quiet, yet familiar, sounds of coming home.

"Gilly?" he asked sleepily and suddenly the urge to be near him, feel safe in his arms, and forget about the entire undercover thing, was overwhelming.

She slipped off her coat and shoes and crawled into bed. He was warm, his body against hers a welcome diversion for her overwrought senses when he pulled her toward him.

"I hate it when we fight."

Alec kissed her before she could respond and another time after that, more intense this time. It briefly crossed her mind that maybe he didn't hate it that much when they fought because their make up sex was always great. As expected, his hands slipped under her shirt and pulled the zipper of her skirt down. She was happy to participate, though, needed the day to end with another memory than the prison gate closing behind her.

For that reason and in the heat of the moment, Gillian didn't notice that, even if she tasted the alcohol, Alec was a little too agitated to only be drunk. Despite just having woken up, he appeared to be highly alert, hyped even. The sex wasn't just their usual make up style either. It was better. Alec was different, showed more ingenuity than usual, and she liked it, of course, how could she not. At the same time, though, it caused a premonitory humming deep inside of her. Afterward, when he lay next to her snoring, she realized where that humming had come from, remembered something. They had made love like this before. Once. Years ago. A similar situation like this save that he had been the one to come home late after a party with his colleagues that had gotten out of control and had misled him to take drugs. Alec had confessed the drug abuse; Gillian had threatened to leave him. In the end, she had stayed because of his sincere regret and apology that it would never happen again. As far as she could tell, he had been keeping his promise. Until now. Lying there, staring into the darkness, Gillian wondered whether other recent occasions when Alec had behaved strangely might have been caused by the same reason or not. Perhaps she had only been too blind to see it or hadn't wanted to see it, given their already strained relationship.

The next morning, she confronted him with her suspicion that had manifested itself as a conviction by that time. To her surprise, though, Alec denied everything. And Gillian was even more surprised when her automatic voice analysis came up with an inconclusive result. She couldn't tell whether he was lying or not – a typical occurrence when trying to analyze people close to oneself.

* * *

"That bad, huh?" Cal states, watching her facial expression.

"That's none...," she starts impulsively.

"...of my business," he interrupts her, ending her sentence. "You're right. It isn't."

And there it is again – his unusual, serious behavior that lets her last defensive wall crumble. Gillian wants to talk about her problems even if she can't. Won't. At least not in detail. It's simply inappropriate in her book to talk about it with another man. Especially one she is attracted to.

"I just...," Gillian starts, sighing. "It's complicated." Even if her statement is very vague, it is also the first time that she more or less admits something is wrong with her relationship. And that feels good, relieving.

"Complicated is good," Cal says with a smile that is meant to cheer her up.

"Not that kind of complicated."

* * *

Gillian remembers another occurrence when Alec came home late a couple of days ago. Another time, she was convinced that he had taken drugs. But another time, he vehemently denied it and blamed his overtime and irregular working hours for his odd behavior instead. He wasn't hyped that time, rather the contrary. He was extremely grumpy, bordering on aggressive, a character trait that was completely uncommon for him and unfortunately matched the symptoms of withdrawal. Although Gillian still wasn't able to read his voice, the mere facts told her that something was wrong with him and that it was getting worse gradually.

Her attempt at clearing up the situation failed again. He denied; she accused, and in the end, he fled to come back in the middle of the night and slept on the couch downstairs. The next day, Alec behaved perfectly normal if you ignored the nervous snuffling that had become his new trademark.

Since that day, Gillian knows that her relationship is about to end. She isn't certain whether she would have given him another chance after his relapse or not, but she is certain that she won't be able to do it under the present circumstances when he insists on denying the obvious. These days, Gillian dreads to go home. She is aware that _the talk_ is unavoidable, but somehow Alec always manages to come home so late that she already is asleep so that they barely see each other, let alone have time to talk. It makes her wonder what excuse he will come up with to avoid her at the weekend. At the same time, Gillian is thankful for every other day. Her work life has to get back to normalcy before she tears her private life apart. In spite of her calm and composed facade, Gillian is very emotional and fears that she won't have enough strength to follow through with her assignment otherwise.

* * *

Cal didn't respond to her last statement, just let her walk down memory lane. When she cuts the surface of reality and notices the look in his eyes, it feels as if he is looking right into her soul.

"Don't do that," she tells him. "Don't read me all the time."

"Sorry, luv. Wish I could help you, but there's not much I can do as long as I'm in here."

This time, Gillian doesn't reprimand him for using his favorite term of endearment. Actually, it felt comforting. And he offered her help. Like a friend. Is that what they are for each other now – friends?

"Thank you." She nods appreciatively and then changes the subject because there is no more personal information she wants to share currently, "So... Any clue what will happen next? Since the operation seems to be kind of stuck." Gillian refers to the lack of success of their assignment so far.

Cal's sharp features darken. "Got new orders. Clearance of Level Three."

_Level Three._ The way he emphasized it sounded threatening. Cal looks sad, almost angry. He doesn't like the turn the events are about to take. Not at all.

"You don't like what is about to happen," she voices her thoughts.

"Don't have to like what I have to do. Just have to do it."

He mentioned it so casually as if she knows what Level Three means, as if they talked about things like that every day. Of course, she does not. Gillian is certain that he overstepped the mark. She isn't supposed to know, but he looks so devastated and was so kind to her before that she has to ask. By instinct, she rightly assumes that he will only tell her if she asks.

"What is it that you have to do?"

Pain. It's in his eyes and in his voice when he tells her.

Level One means that an undercover agent is put in a position in which he or she simply has to observe and report. No active intervention, low risk. Level Two requires interaction with the target to gather information or influence the target to make certain decisions or do certain things. Medium Risk.

Cal's assignment started at Level Two. The plan was to gather information from another inmate so that the son of the criminal mastermind of a terrorist organization can be arrested. They don't have enough material to arrest the mastermind and won't get it quick enough after their original undercover agent was killed. The fallback plan is to blackmail the criminal mastermind, to offer his son a free pass regarding the charges against him in exchange for preventing a planned attack. The problem being that they still have no results and don't know the exact date of the planned attack. They only know that it was planned to be executed four to six weeks after the original undercover agent was killed.

Therefore, time is of essence. To get the selected inmate to volunteer the needed information, though, time is also substantial. They had hoped that two weeks would be sufficient to gain the inmate's trust and get him to talk to Cal, but it didn't work out. The criminal mastermind is powerful, even here in prison, and the inmate doesn't trust Cal enough yet. Talking to the wrong person gets people killed. That's why the operation was raised to Level Three. You could call it a confidence-building measure of the worst kind.

It means that Cal either has to kill another prisoner to gain the inmate's trust or to deliver advantageous information to the inmate that gets someone outside killed. There is always information floating around in prisons that can be used to do either of it. The other inmate, Donny, won't trust someone else unless that line is crossed. He has a flourishing drug business inside and outside these concrete walls. There is no one in here who poses a risk for him at the moment. They all have been _taken care of_ already. From another inmate Cal has in his pockets, he received the information, though, that someone on the streets is trying to get into Donny's business. Most likely unwittingly. A rookie. A white-collar guy who got addicted so fast that he doesn't see another option to finance his addiction, ignoring the dangers it implies to invade the territory of another dealer because he is constantly on drugs or suffering too much from withdrawal to care. It is not the first time something like that happens. Those rookies always end up dead sooner or later. Donny will find out who that guy is in a couple of days, anyway. Cal giving the guy's name to Donny is merely a courtesy to speed things up so that Donny can get rid of the inconvenience without further ado.

"One life for many lives," Cal ends. "Doesn't make it better."

Gillian barely listens anymore, though. It's not possible. This would be such a cruel twist of fate. On the other hand... How much does it cost to finance an addiction? Would Alec's salary be enough? Probably not. The many times he came home late recently (or even not at all). She always assumed it was because he had to buy and take drugs but selling them? No, it simply can't be true.

"Imagine that," Cal is talking to himself so caught up in his thoughts that he for once doesn't notice Gillian's reaction. "One day you're a guy with a good job, with money. And the next you're addicted, broke, and as good as dead. Never trust a policy advisor."

His last words push Gillian over the edge. It has to be Alec and no matter what problems he has, no matter that she is about to leave him, she can't let this happen. Gillian hasn't even noticed that she stood up behind her desk until Cal looks at her surprised.

"What is it?"

His words are interrupted by the usual knock at the door. Time for him to go back to his cell.

She opens her mouth, but the words won't come out. Only when Cal reaches out and touches her arm, she realizes that she is shaking.

"Are you not feeling well?" He looks at her concerned.

There is another knock at the door.

"One moment please," Gillian hardly recognizes her own voice, starts to walk around the desk to approach Cal but stops half way. Suddenly, he has turned into the dangerous man he appeared to be when she saw him the for first time. A man who decides whether someone lives or dies.

"You have to tell me who it is. Give me the name," she whispers.

The door opens and the guard steps inside.

"Sorry, Dr. Foster. I have to take Atherton back to his cell."

"Can I talk to him a few more minutes? We are at a breaking point in his therapy." Gillian makes a desperate attempt to stall the guard, hoping he doesn't notice the awkward situation. But the guard doesn't budge.

"We have strict regulations, Dr. Foster. I've already allowed you the maximum of five additional minutes. Sorry."

Cal had let go of her arm before the guard entered. Albeit she can tell through the haze of her racing thoughts that he is reluctant to leave, he stands up, staying in character of the obedient inmate. He has to.

"The name?" she asks again, talking to Cal now, trying to keep her voice steady as best as she can.

Cal glimpses at her. Unlike him, she can't read micro expressions. Nevertheless, she sees the confusion and sadness on his face because he doesn't attempt to hide it, most likely for her benefit so that she knows he would tell her if there was a way. Most likely he guessed the reason for her strange behavior, at least sensu lato. Then he turns around and walks out, following the guard. Of course, he can't give her the name in front of the guard. On a rational basis, Gillian knows that. Emotionally, the rug under her feet just has been pulled out.

After the door has closed behind the two men, she stands there, frozen on the spot, unable to move. Gillian wants to shout and scream, doesn't know what is more terrifying – the idea that she actually considers her fiancé could deal drugs or that he could be dead soon. Either way, she still can't move, doesn't want to, because the moment she does, it becomes real and what will she do then?

* * *

**- To be continued -**

_Hope Cal and Gillian getting closer didn't feel rushed and you liked the twist at the end. ;)_

_One question: So far, I wrote the story from Gillian's point of view, and given the situation, I think the next chapter will also be written from her POV. __Would you generally prefer chapters from Cal's POV, too? _

_I can't decide. Therefore, your opinion is welcome. :)_


	5. Everything Is Falling Apart

**A/N: **For the general setting of the story see the A/N of the prologue. In this and (at least) the next chapter, times are hard for our Callian pair, especially for Gillian. The story isn't labeled angst for nothing.

Thank you to everyone who found the time to leave a review and/or PM'ed me about my POV question. :)

The** usual disclaimer **applies (see prologue).

* * *

_- Everything Is Falling Apart - _

* * *

The earth is a sphere but not Gillian Foster's earth. Her earth is flat and she is standing at the edge, looking into the abyss.

Five days ago, on Thursday, she learned from the undercover agent that a white-collar dealer, a rookie, had to die as part of their operation. A necessary measure, the chosen victim nothing but a pawn in the game. Ever since she has been living in hell because the undercover agent didn't give her a name and she would have needed one to exclude the possibility that it could be Alec, her fiancé, no matter how farfetched and surreal it felt to even think of it.

_Cal_. That's the name of the undercover agent who told her. His _real_ name. The name she thought she liked so much. But since Gillian heard him say those words, a shield has replaced the increasing closeness between them. A shield that is supposed to protect her from his world of danger and death. She should have known better. It's a classified operation. Even if Cal Lightman is a fascinating man, a scientist with a very interesting field of expertise, she shouldn't have underestimated the situation. People get hurt or die during that kind of assignments and there she was having completely forgotten about the rest of the world while they were sitting in her alleged office, talking and flirting.

Depending on perspective, a lot has happened between last Thursday and today or nothing at all. Either way, Gillian hasn't eaten or slept regularly and is aware that it shows. She is living on coffee and adrenaline, looks as pale and feels as unstrung as she did when the guard walked her out last week, probably even more so. Back then, the guard asked her several times if she was ok because she obviously didn't look like it. As an explanation, she mumbled something about having caught a cold, eager to get in her car and away from that dreadful place. Another guard accompanied her today. He didn't ask her anything, either not noticing or not caring that she doesn't look well in the least.

The undercover agent, _Cal_, is the last on her list, as always. Somehow, Gillian makes it through the therapy sessions of the other inmates. Every minute that brings her closer to his _therapy session_, though, heightens her emotional turmoil. She is well aware that he is just doing his job, was just the messenger when he told her about the planned hit. But that doesn't change the fact that it feels as if he is responsible for her current agony and terrifying last days. It's not only him who is in prison during their assignment. She is in prison, too, save that hers is invisible. A cage of fears and threats. And all she wants is out.

* * *

The moment Cal walks through the door, he flinches from her sight but doesn't say anything. Gillian assumes that he more or less figured out why she reacted the way she did when they saw each other last, why she kept pushing for the name he couldn't tell her because the guard was in the office with them already. She remains behind her desk at a safe distance, waiting for the sudden urge to hurt him physically, punish him for something that isn't his fault, to abate. This isn't like her at all, but she can't help it. The events of the last days have taken a toll on her. His eyes glimpse at her hands that have grabbed the edge of the desk to hold on to something instead of lashing out before he stops in the middle of the room, also keeping his distance by instinct.

In sharp contrast to the almost relaxed atmosphere of their last meetings, there is a heavy silence.

"Go ahead," Cal breaks it, tilting his head back in anticipation of the storm that he knows is about to break loose.

But Gillian is unable to move or say anything because there _is_ a storm inside of her and it _will_ break loose the moment she does.

"Who is it?" Cal asks when he realizes she won't be the one to start this. "Uncle? Brother? _Fiancé_? Who's the drug dealer you're afraid to lose?"

She jumped up and is standing right in front of him before Gillian even becomes aware that she has moved. She also didn't notice that her reaction gave away that her fiancé is, indeed, the one this is all about.

"What do you care?" she hisses. "You could have put me out of my misery, but you wouldn't give me the name."

"_Couldn't_. You know that," he reminds her that he actually couldn't do it as she knows very well, but Gillian is beyond rational argumentation.

"You could have found a way if you had wanted to. There has to be an emergency plan for situations like these. _There has to be...,_" her voice trails off, the faint ringing in her ears getting louder and louder.

"You should lower your voice or the guard will come inside and end our session, thinking that I misbehaved," Cal suggests in a quiet voice, holding her gaze.

As if on cue, there is a knock at the door. "Dr. Foster? Everything ok?"

Her anger and desperation are still there, but the look in his eyes, a mix of understanding and regret, accomplishes something his mere words couldn't – she calms down a bit. She is so tired. Gillian wants to sleep for 12 hours and then wake up to find out it was just a nightmare. She takes several deep breaths.

"Yes, everything ok," she replies, her voice steady now.

"There is no emergency plan for situations like these," Cal explains. "You are the only emergency plan I have. Here. Every Tuesday and every Thursday. Aside from that it's just me in there with the other inmates on my own."

Gillian nods, remembering how she thought of herself as a prisoner like him. They are in the same boat. Despite the horrible situation, she shouldn't judge him. Others are the puppet masters; they are the marionettes and shouldn't get at each other's throats. She smiles ruefully.

"I tried to call you."

Cal thinks about it. "But you weren't able to reach me."

"No."

Little did she know. The inmates are allowed to receive two phone calls per week, but Cal had already used his amount up. His cover includes the one or other low life calling him from time to time so that his facade remains believable. The argument that she is his therapist didn't matter. If it was urgent, she could talk to the prison doctor. If not, she had to wait until their next appointment.

"I'm sorry." He truly is.

Suddenly, the office walls seem to be closing in. Gillian needs to get out as soon as possible. She takes the phone out of her purse and hands it over to Cal.

"Here, make the call." She will tell the guard that they don't need the rest of the session after that so that she can go. First thing tomorrow morning, she will talk to Hines, convince him to pull her off, and never come back here. Gillian made that decision on her drive to the prison. There is a slight sting at the realization that she probably won't see Cal again in that case but given the situation, she can't take this into consideration.

"Don't you want to know the name?" Cal asks her surprised.

The few times he saw her were sufficient for Cal to detect and appreciate Gillian's strength that is hidden behind her softness. Here and now, though, he sees something else. A layer beneath her strength. Pure steel. It's in her face and in her voice as well when she speaks.

"That won't be necessary anymore."

For once, he can't read what he sees. Cal sees the hardness in her facial expression, most of it probably pretense or denial. He wishes, though, he could understand the reason behind it. Does it mean that she already knows the name or simply that it doesn't matter to her anymore? And if it doesn't matter anymore, then why?

But when Gillian keeps holding the phone out to him, something else catches his attention. A nasty bruise around her wrist. The sleeve of her blouse rode up a little so that it has become visible.

"What is that?" Cal knows how physical abuse looks like, but he needs to hear it from her, ignoring the phone in her hand. Only now, he notices that she is not wearing her engagement ring anymore. "Tell me."

Gillian shakes her head. He wasn't supposed to see this; she doesn't want to talk about it. Not before she has come to terms with herself. The wounds are still raw and that concerns her physical wounds as well as her emotional ones. _Tell him everything. You can trust him_, her inner voice tries to break her resistance and she feels how she tears up. No, now is neither the time nor the place to discuss it. _Compose yourself. You need to get out of here as fast as you can._

"Make the call, please," she whispers, her vision getting blurry due to unshed tears. Nevertheless, Gillian perceives the way Cal's hands twitch and just knows that he thinks about taking her in his arms to comfort her. The mere thought is wonderful. Like a balmy breeze after a boiling hot day. She is still standing so close to him that he could easily touch her. And all of a sudden, she realizes that even if she considers him to be dangerous, she is dead certain that he would never be a danger to her. _Hold me. _As soon as the thought is in her head, Gillian notices how Cal slowly starts to raise his arms, having read her immediately. She takes a step back, holding the phone up some more, like a barrier between them. "Please," she repeats.

Reluctantly, Cal takes the phone out of her hand, his other hand touching her arm briefly as if to tell her _later_. Then he makes the call, looking at her worried in between, while she is dwelling on her thoughts, remembering.

* * *

The bruise Cal saw is not the only one. There are more bruises hidden underneath her clothes. They are the result of Plan A to save Alec's life – talking to him.

On her drive back home from prison on Thursday, Gillian had to stop three times. She was shaking so badly that her hands couldn't hold the steering wheel properly. Her limbs were trembling and her thoughts were racing, images of Alec lying dead and blood-smeared in an alley haunting her.

He wasn't home when she arrived. Of course not. And he also didn't answer her calls or text messages. It made her timider but also angrier by the minute, up to the point when her concern took a backseat and Gillian was so tired that she nodded off on the couch. She awoke in the middle of the night. On any other day, the sight of a man sifting through her purse in the dark would have scared her. On that day, her mind was on permanent alert so that she recognized Alec's outline immediately.

"What are you doing?"

But he wouldn't answer her and kept snooping around instead. Gillian stood up to approach him.

"Alec would you listen to me. Just this once. I need to know how bad it is. I don't care whether you take drugs or not. I mean, I _do care_ but... here and now, I just need to know if you are... if you deal in drugs. Do you? Don't lie to me. It's important."

He had stopped whatever he had been doing and seemed to listen, but when she was finished, his response wasn't even close to what she expected.

"You have two phones."

"What?"

He held the cell phone she had been given for use during the operation out to her. Gillian recognized its shape, even in the dark, because it was different from the one she used personally.

"That's not your phone. For what do you need it? Are you cheating on me?"

The entire scenario and that question on top were absurd; she would have laughed if the circumstances hadn't been so grim.

"It's for work. New regulations," Gillian made up. "My superior doesn't like it when personal and business calls get mixed up."

"You're lying." Alec got closer so that she could smell the alcohol in his breath. Moreover, though, she could tell from his behavior and speech pattern that he was on the downside of his addiction, his mood aggressive as a first sign of withdrawal.

"Alec..." The situation threatened to get out of control and she had to avoid that at all cost. _It's not about our relationship, not about his drug abuse_, she reminded herself. _It's solely about saving his life._

"Why should I lie to you?" Gillian forced herself to smile at him even if he probably couldn't see it because the lights were still turned off but hopefully heard it in her voice. She touched his chest in an effort to calm him down.

He didn't reply but also didn't continue to accuse her. So she took the chance.

"I know it sounds weird, but I have reliable information that someone... new in the business of dealing in drugs is about to be killed. Please don't ask me how I know that; I'm not even allowed to talk about it, but I can't risk that something happens to you. So tell me for your own sake. Do you sell drugs?" she pleaded with him to tell her the truth.

Alec stood there immobile, like a statue. Gillian couldn't make out his face in the dark. Then he uttered a bitter laugh, grabbing her wrist forcefully.

"Really? And where does that _reliable information_ come from? From that someone you're talking to over your secret phone? All those recent after hours," he refers to the days she spends at the Federal Correction Institution Cumberland and she is surprised that he even noticed. "Let's call and ask him."

He got ready to press redial and would have called Cal's contact if he had done it. Gillian needed to prevent that.

"Give me the phone." It was a ridiculous, futile struggle. He was taller than her, holding the phone up over her head like a bait to tease her. Then he changed his mind and, instead of dialing, threw the phone across the room. "No!" Gillian yelled. She could get a new phone but having to come up with an excuse so as not having to tell her superior that her drugged fiancé had broken it on purpose wasn't at the top of her list. The fact that he is addicted to drugs will endanger her job either way if it ever comes out.

When Gillian wanted to pick the phone up, Alec held her back with relentless strength. She froze in shock because something like that had never happened before. Alec wasn't violent in the least; he was more the passive-aggressive type. She couldn't believe how quick and profoundly the drugs had changed his behavior. His grip around her wrist tightened and his other arm clasped her waist, pulling her back toward him, his fingers digging into her soft skin. It was painful, physically as well as emotionally.

"He won't help you," Alec's voice oozed vengefulness. This was not the man she used to know and love anymore. This was a stranger. Someone she should be afraid of with good reason.

"Just listen to you," she hissed adamantly. "You're delirious. There is no one else. I'm not cheating on you. The drugs make you believe that or should I rather say the lack thereof."

All she wanted was to save him. At the same time, Gillian knew, though, that she had lost the battle the moment she had accused him of taking drugs and not being himself. The subject that shall never be mentioned. And she was right. He shut down, tearing at her body mercilessly another time, pushing her around until she stumbled against his chest.

His outbreak was over as sudden as it had started. But instead of celebrating his victory, Alec's mood changed. His hands let go of her body and embraced her face tenderly, mocking the situation and his previous violence. She tried to keep calm and not to flinch, couldn't predict what would happen next. Should she remain passive and wait it out or fight him and try to get away?

"Gillian..."

She still couldn't see his face, but she didn't need to. He posed no threat to her. At least not just now. For a brief moment, it was all there in his voice. The _I'm sorry_. The _I love you_. Everything that was _by far_ too little, too late. The delusion of a man who believed there could be an honest confession of love after what he had done. Or perhaps he had a rare moment of clarity and had realized that he had destroyed the remains of their relationship. Then he left without another word.

Gillian picked the phone up with shaky hands. Despite the impact, it was working. She checked her purse. Alec had taken money out of her briefcase. One hundred dollar. She should have been upset, but after all that had happened she couldn't care less about the money. And if she had cared, it maybe was a good thing because it meant that he didn't sell drugs but rather stole to finance his addiction.

Alec didn't come back that night. This time, Gillian didn't try to call or text him. Saving his life still was on her agenda, if possible, but personally Gillian was through with him, her engagement ring lying on his nightstand.

* * *

Cal's phone call is over. What his contact told him makes him want to find out why Gillian doesn't need to know the name of the drug dealer even more because he is dead.

Gillian sat down behind her desk again when she began to remember and dwell on her thoughts. As Cal sits down on the chair in front of her desk, watching her warily, her ugly memories fade. Unfortunately, they only make room for a reality that doesn't feel much better.

She is aware that he is waiting for her to say something, tell him how she got the bruise if he could have his way. But that is not going to happen. Let alone that she doesn't have to tell him. He already knows. Gillian sighs defeated.

"Yes, it's what you think it is," she refers to the bruise and the absence of her engagement ring. He only had to put one and one together. "And no, I'm not going to talk about it. And I expect you to respect that."

He raises his hands defensively. "Weren't going to push you."

This has to stop. He has to stop being so nice to her. She came here today with the intention to blame him at least partly for the situation, and now, he seems to be the only one who truly cares about her.

"Did you try to call me before or after?" Cal gestures at her injury. He won't let it go but since he keeps being so affectionate, Gillian doesn't want to deny him an answer.

"After."

"That's noble."

Was it? Yes, perhaps he is right. She had no moral obligation to try to help Alec any longer after what had happened. It is a different matter, though, whether to end a relationship or stand idly by when the life of your ex-fiancé is in danger. Gillian even had a Plan C after her Plan B (calling Cal) had failed. She contacted Hines.

* * *

He was not in his office; so she had to call him. Gillian hoped he wasn't home already, considering that it was Friday afternoon, or, God forbid, in another classified meeting. When he answered her call, she tried to keep her voice steady to hide her desperation and uncertainty. _You said I could call whenever something strange happens, _she justified her approach. Hines had said that but probably not expected her to actually call him. _Play the rookie card_, she told herself, offering Hines a mixture of the truth (someone will be killed) and feigned worry (Did he know that? Is that really allowed as part of an undercover operation?). She explained her knowledge about it with the fact that she had overheard it during Cal's call with his contact so that he wouldn't be blamed.

It was all to no avail in the end, though, because albeit Hines confirmed that yes, things like that, messy as they are, match standard procedure, he casually admitted that he didn't know who the soon-to-be victim was before she even had to ask. _Don't burden yourself with information like this, _he ended their phone call. _It's not worth it. _A concerned, well-meant advice even though someone was about to be killed and Hines was that callous that he didn't even bother to find out his name.

And that was that. Gillian had run out of options, dreading an endless weekend and Monday until she could visit Cal in prison again and learn the truth. She couldn't know at the time that it wouldn't be relevant anymore by then.

* * *

Gillian rejects the memory with a shrug and Cal's remark along with it. Then she remembers that she wanted to leave right after he had finished the call and stands up abruptly.

"I, um, I have to go."

Cal stands up, too, scrutinizing her. "You're not coming back."

His voice moves her. It shouldn't sound so sad. They barely know each other; he can't miss her that much in advance.

"No," she admits. "Not if I have a choice."

He nods, his eyes resting on her face like a caress and despite of it all – her desperation, her exhaustion, the whole mess – she feels that indefinable something that exists between them. Even now, after that short time.

"Cal..." Gillian was determined not to address him by name today, to think of him only as the _undercover agent_. So much for trying to keep her distance.

He walks around the desk so that he is standing next to her.

"Hey." He touches her hand hesitatingly. Once, twice, until her fingers twitch and she holds on to it loosely.

"I can't be here any longer. It's too much. I can't..." A single tear runs down her cheek and she brushes it away angrily, letting go of his hand.

"Where are you going?" Cal seems to have accepted that she won't change her mind. "Do you..." He runs his fingers through his hair. "Look, I respect that you don't want to talk about it, but I'm _in here_ and you're _out there_. And I don't like the idea that you go back to wherever you live with whoever you live there unless I know it's safe for you."

Alec. Cal is afraid that he will hurt her again.

"You don't have to worry about me." Gillian smiles bleakly. Alec won't hurt her another time.

She remembers how the police knocked at her door at home on the weekend, remembers how she heard the name of the drug dealer that had been killed on the radio when she drove over to the prison earlier, the way she hit the brakes and pulled over because she had thought she would have to throw up. The fact that this certain drug dealer had been a responsible citizen aside from his addiction was worth a headline on the news.

"You don't have to worry about me," she repeats.

Given the circumstances, it is ridiculous to say it once, let alone twice, considering how she looks and is barely able to stand upright due to exhaustion and brokenness. She is not okay; there is a lot to worry about. Gillian is aware that Cal is trying to read her. Not only to find out if she will be safe but also to find out what happened, whether he was involved in the death of her fiancé or not. Of course, he figured out that Alec is the drug dealer she was worried about – however he did it; she has stopped wondering. Why is he so intense all the time? What is it with him that he has to know everything? She feels cornered, as if he won't give up until she spelled every detail out for him. _Yes, my fiancé is a drug dealer. Yes, my fiancé abused me. No, I have no idea as yet how to handle it without falling apart completely._

"I'm sorry." For some reason, this is the moment Cal seems to have decided for himself that her fiancé is dead and that he is to blame for his death.

He takes a step forward and she instinctively retreats but not fast enough. His arms already have found his way around her, softly pulling her toward him. Instead of feeling comforted, Gillian feels trapped, though, the memories of Alec pushing her around, pressing her against him, hitting her unexpectedly. Suddenly, she has trouble breathing.

"No." She pushes him away and Cal lets go of her immediately, realizing why she reacts the way she does.

"I'm sorry." They start to sound like a broken record, only able to communicate by repetitions.

Once, his arms are no longer around her, Gillian steps away from him and regains her composure. She takes a deep breath. "It's not your fault. None of this is your fault. You're only doing your job. It's difficult enough as it is."

"If I had known he was your fiancé," he starts an apology, but she stops him.

"It's not him. He is not dead," she clears things up.

It was her first thought, of course, when the police knocked at her door on Saturday night. That Alec was dead and that they had come to tell her. Her legs turned to jelly and one of the officers had to uphold her when she stumbled. Then she saw Alec in the police car. They had picked him up off the street, drunken and high, and – because a friend of one of the officers knew one of Alec's friends – had decided to bring him home instead of turning him in so that he could sleep it off in a cell. While she was thinking about letting him in or not, he already tripped into the living room half-unconsciously and passed out on the couch. The same couch she had slept on two days ago before his presence woke her and their fight started. It made her sick to see him there, to see him anywhere in her home. Home had to be a place where you felt safe. It was her apartment, after all. Alec had moved in with her.

Gillian had to occupy herself while an unconscious Alec was occupying her home. At least that was how it felt. It had never occurred to her before to actively look for evidence, but the more the situation sharpened, the more she realized how naïve it had been to wait for him to tell her the truth. They were beyond words. It was time to act. She searched the apartment as well as his car and found evidence that he consumed drugs and sold at least small amounts.

It didn't surprise her to find the couch empty and more of her money gone when she woke up on Sunday morning. She took the chance to call lockout services, change the locks, pack his clothes and personal belongings, put them in the garage they used as a storage room, and texted him that he had been moved out and should contact her to make an appointment so that he could collect the part of the furniture that was his.

Yet, the threat that he could be killed was still there. And it was still nagging her. There was a version of Alec she remembered that she had loved and she couldn't stand the thought that this man that for sure existed somewhere deep inside the drug addict would be the victim of such a hideous crime. So when Gillian heard the name of the other man that had been killed on the radio, a shocked relief washed over her, accompanied by guilt, because, either way, someone was dead.

"Not dead then. And yet, he is. At least for you," Cal states, having watched the multitude of emotions that were reflected in her face as she remembered. He understands now that her fiancé only does not exist anymore as far as Gillian is concerned. That was what he misinterpreted earlier after he had read her and thought he was actually dead.

"In a way," she confirms. This chapter of her life is closed for good.

"Sorry for that again," Cal points at her and waves his hands around, referring to his embrace that upset her.

This time it's her who takes a step forward, and unlike her, Cal doesn't retreat. It's like a pull that draws her closer and closer to him until they are so close that albeit it is not an embrace, it also doesn't even remotely look as if they were simply having an innocent conversation. Gillian puts her hand against his chest. The fabric of his orange overall is itchy. She stares at her hand, wondering how his skin feels like. If she moved her fingers a bit sideways to the scoop neckline, she could feel it. When she hears him hold his breath, she looks at him and directly into his dilated pupils.

"Still don't like that you're out there on your own," he mutters.

Gillian's decision to talk Hines into pulling her off stands firm. However, that doesn't mean...

"Maybe when this is over...," she begins unassertively.

There is some noise outside. Cal turns his head to listen and frowns. Then it is silent again and he applies his attention back to her, taking her hand and fluttering a kiss on it. Like a true British gentleman. Save for the tattoo and everything else. Well, like a _dangerous_ British gentleman perhaps.

"Careful. You're a beautiful woman, talking to a prisoner who had to miss out on the company of women for too long." His smile is disarming.

Despite her tiredness, Gillian has to smile, too. "You've been in here only for about three weeks. It's not _that_ long."

"Depends on what you're thinking about when you're alone in your cell."

He doesn't waste any time. That much is for sure. Just when Gillian thinks about a reply – because as much as she usually would enjoy this, today it is simply too much for her to take in – there is the noise again. Still far away, but closer than before. Cal is on high alert immediately, turning around so that he is standing between her and the door. Her protective shield. How could she ever think she would need protection from him? Then the light flickers briefly, followed by piercing siren's wailing.

Gillian grab's Cal's arm and he answers her implied question.

"Lockdown."

* * *

**- To be continued -**

_In the end, I thought it would be too much of a burden for Cal's and Gillian's relationship if Cal actually had been involved in Alec's death although the idea was (and still is) very tempting. Well, the story isn't finished yet..._

_And yes, I know, another cliffhanger. But I warned you that there would be more twists, remember? So don't hate me, please. ;)_


	6. Lockdown: Play Along

**A/N: **For the general setting of the story see the A/N of the prologue. As announced, times are still hard for Cal and Gillian in this chapter that is the start of at least one more _lockdown chapter_ to come.

Your wonderful reviews keep blowing me away. I can't tell you how much that means to me. Thank you over and over again.

The** usual disclaimer **applies (see prologue).

* * *

_- Lockdown: Play Along - _

* * *

"How could that happen?" Hines rarely yells at other people, but he is not able to restrain his anger this time. Some of his best men have retired lately and it feels as if he has been left to work with amateurs only. He holds the handset firmer than necessary. "Your job was to observe him 24/7 so that we can arrest him as soon as we get the information we are waiting for and you – what? – stand by and watch him get taken into custody for running a red light and driving too fast?"

The man he is talking about is Matthew Banida. He is the son of the leader of a terrorist organization they have been keeping under observation for years now. Based on the information Lightman gave his contact approximately half an hour ago, they will be able to arrest the man for some real crimes soon and not just take him into custody for a minor misdemeanor. They need the arrest as leverage so that they can offer his father a deal – dropping the charges against his son if he, in return, drops his plans to execute a terror attack. Save that the son needs to be outside of prison or a cell at a police station so that they can catch him in the act.

The voice on the other line is talking fast, but Hines barely pays attention. "No, _you_ listen to _me_. I don't care how you do it. But you are going to fix it and you are going to fix it _now_, within the next two hours." Those damn budget cutbacks. The team leader he is talking to is a greenhorn.

Hines listens some more and loses his patience again. "I said _I don't care._ Just do it."

He hangs up and massages his temples. Days like this give him a headache. The observation should have been standard procedure. Not such a complicated mess.

* * *

The sound of the alarm is deafening so that it's difficult to hear what is going on outside. Some noise gets through though – yelling, running, bodies colliding or falling down. At least there is no gunfire. Yet.

_Lockdown_ – as soon as Cal confirmed what Gillian had already assumed, they have somehow changed roles. He is not her actual patient, but it always felt as if the office was more her territory than his even if it only is borrowed for their undercover operation and belongs to neither of them.

Gillian let go of his arm she had grabbed the moment the alarm had gone off albeit she is still standing close to Cal, apparently having decided that it is a good choice to stay at his side until this is over. He hasn't moved, standing between her and the door, shielding her from whatever is about to happen.

"What now? And don't tell me not to worry," she asks.

Of all the possible scenarios, this one wasn't on Cal's list because a lockdown is very rare. Usually it is caused by an attempted escape or a riot, and unfortunately, the sounds outside don't sound like the former. That is the worst of all possibilities. A riot. Gillian trapped in here with him while angry, in some cases violent inmates are running amok. It is a medium-security prison. This doesn't mean, though, that it solely homes inmates who committed white-collar crimes or minor ones. There are also convicted murderers or rapists allowed to serve the rest of their sentence surrounded by lower safety measures than those of a maximum security prison because they did well. So, no, Cal won't tell Gillian not to worry because she is right to do so.

Therefore he doesn't answer her and doesn't even try to hide his concerned facial expression. If they want to get out of this more or less unharmed, she has to be highly alert. Gillian takes a deep breath and straightens herself, giving him a strained smile.

Cal didn't plan this. And _this_ doesn't refer to the lockdown. Of course, he didn't plan that either. No, _this_ refers to his unexpected and very intense feelings for the woman who is stuck in here together with him. Dr. Gillian Foster. Cal hated the entire idea of this last-minute undercover operation, thought out by office sitters, and was prepared to hate every minute of its realization. But then he walked into the office of the prison psychologist and saw her. He doesn't believe in love at first sight. Attraction, yes, but love... that is a different matter altogether. However, he has to admit that there was something beyond physical attraction that caught him right from the start. Dr. Gillian Foster somehow captured his imagination and has never let go ever since. Cal's implication that he is thinking about her when he is alone in his cell wasn't a bad come-on. Well, it was, but it also was the truth. He _does_ think about her a lot and his thoughts have a, let's say, _wide range_ – from her profession over her personality right down to the last, um, _physical detail_.

He looks at her strained smile, his hand reaching out and patting her arm to bolster her up, if only by reminding her that she is not alone in this. Cal caught a brief glimpse of Gillian's strength beneath her affectionate facade when she told, or rather _not told_, him about her fiancé. He doesn't exactly know what happened, but the mere thought that the bastard _touched_ and _hurt_ her on purpose is enough to make him clench his fists. Cal will do _anything_ to keep her from getting hurt.

Just when Cal heads to the door to lock it, it flies open and the guard comes rushing in, his face and body language tense.

"Hands," he orders, addressing Cal.

_No_, Gillian almost shouts out. _He's supposed to protect me. Don't handcuff him._ Then she remembers that their first priority has to be to make sure that Cal's cover isn't blown and remains silent.

The guard handcuffs Cal and chains him to one of the heating pipes at the wall.

"Stay in here and lock the door," the guard says to Gillian, already on his way out, drawing his gun. "I can't take him back to his cell right now, but I'll come back to get you as fast as I can." He doesn't plan on coming back to save her. Gillian hears it in the way he squeezes the words out. An unconvincing liar. In spite of that, she nods, pretending she believes him. Whether she will get out of here or not will not depend on the guard, anyway.

The moment the guard is gone, Gillian locks the door behind him.

"We have to unchain you," she states.

Under different circumstances, that line would have been an opportunity for innuendo that Cal never would have wasted. As it is, Cal only smirks satisfied, "Finally got you thinking like a criminal."

Gillian ignores his comment, looking around for something she could use to free him.

"Check the desk for keys." Cal almost regrets that he has to interrupt her. He would have enjoyed to observe her efforts some more, but they can't afford to lose time. When he told her that his meetings with her were his emergency plan, he wasn't only talking about the phone calls and his opportunity to communicate with the outside world. He may not be James Bond even if he has the sexy British accent, but he has the one or other ace up his sleeve thanks to the precaution of his employer.

* * *

"Don't tell me what you _don't_ _know_. Tell me what you _know_."

To say that he is merely angry would be an underestimation. By now, Hines is furious. First his team didn't avoid that Matthew Banida was taken into custody by the traffic police and now this. He stares at the flashing headline on TV, informing him about the breaking news. The screen shows a picture of the Federal Correctional Institution Cumberland. There is a lockdown, presumably due to a riot of some of the inmates. He has two people inside – Cal Lightman and Gillian Foster – and even if his superiors consider them expendable, he is not ready to lose another agent, let alone a psychologist that has never been on an undercover assignment before.

"Now can you tell me whether the riot is related to rumors that there is an undercover agent in prison or not?" he asks again. "You _do_ realize that the lives of some of our own people are at stake?"

He is talking on the phone to their liaison office that has to be called in whenever something happens that potentially involves the press, like a lockdown with an undercover agent inside of the prison. Unfortunately, his contact person at the liaison office is another newbie, telling him that it will take some time to find out. Of course, it will. That's not the point. But Hines can literally smell the odor of failure through the phone. He doesn't need to rely on years of experience to know that it is a high-risk situation for Foster as a civilian and woman. The only question is how dangerous it will get for her. And if Lightman's cover is exposed on top of that, the situation will be even worse for both of them.

"Then better start right away," he barks, hanging up.

Given the timeline, it is too early. No one in prison can possibly know that Lightman leaked the information that is supposed to lead to the arrest of Matthew Banida. The arrest hasn't even taken place yet. On the other hand, prison is a dangerous place with arbitrary rules. Lightman received the information from another inmate, and maybe, that inmate talked. Who knows.

The original plan was to get Cal out of prison as soon as Banida has been arrested but keep him in there down to the wire in case something goes wrong and he has to gather more information. The original set-up has changed though. The liaison office will provide damage control if the assumption is publicly verified that the riot is related to rumors about an undercover agent in prison. Its task will be to obfuscate the facts so that the undercover operation remains confidential. The safety of Lightman and Foster has to come second by necessity.

Hines is tired. He has made it to the top, but on days like this he feels the toll it has taken in every fiber of his body. Too many lost or damaged lives, too many operations gone wrong. His headache has become worse.

He picks up his phone and calls his assistant. "Get Loker on the line."

* * *

Cal can tell that Gillian tries to remain calm while she is searching for the keys to unlock his handcuffs. He sees every micro expression from his position. Actually, she behaves exactly as he would have predicted it if someone had asked him beforehand. She has to be dead scared, but she manages to block her fear out, at least to a certain extent so that she functions enough to be a help and not a burden. It must be difficult for her to concentrate due to the noise outside that is crescendoing. A threatening composition, consisting of quick footsteps and aggressive voices. Sometimes a body even bumps up against the door, but for now it seems to happen accidentally when people (inmates? guards?) are running past the office.

Being a medium security prison, The Federal Correctional Institution Cumberland does not have a security housing unit, an area that is in permanent lockdown or can be closed off separately in case of a riot so that the other areas are not affected. In here, the security measures are rather low and the riot has already spread from the jail cells to the alleged safe zone where the administrative rooms are located. Therefore, the lockdown includes the entire prison. No one gets in; no one gets out. The outside world is not endangered. Inside the prison, though, there is no safe zone anymore. Everyone is fair game with a target at the back.

Gillian searches through the top drawer, then the bottom drawer. _Thump. Thump._ Again someone must have run past very close to the door. _Sooner or later they will try to open it_, Cal can literally see that thought on Gillian's face when she glimpses at the door and her facial expression darkens. He shares the same fear. Cal doesn't even dare to imagine what could happen if another inmate kicked in the door as long as he still is handcuffed and can't protect her. To be honest, it will be problematic for him to protect her, one way or the other, since he is on his own against a swirling mass of unleashed prisoners. Let alone that he is supposed to act like one of them. One step at a time. First Gillian has to find the keys and unlock his handcuffs; then he will somehow find a way to get her out unharmed.

There seems to be a fight right outside in front of the door. This time, the bump against the door is much louder. Apparently, someone was thrown against it. Gillian flinches and looks up, probably to check whether the door bends or withstands the pressure. Unfortunately, she stops searching for the keys in the progress, if only for a moment. They can't afford that. Cal has no idea when their luck will expire and one of the inmates will come up with the idea to check if the pretty psychologist is in her office, but his instinct tells him that it won't be long. Even if Gillian only treats few inmates, word got around by now that she is a sight for sore eyes.

"Just keep looking for the keys," he reminds her.

"You remember that I can read voices, don't you?" she asks rhetorically, feeling for the keys underneath the upper drawer. "So maybe you could at least _try_ to feign confidence." Cal thought he had done that, but obviously she reads voices better than he fakes confidence in a desperate situation. "Wait. There is something." Gillian tears at something underneath the lower drawer. When he can see her hand again, she holds the keys out to him and smiles relieved.

"Someone in there?" The knock at the door is insistent and loud. They both freeze. "Hello? Dr. Foster? I think I need your help."

Gillian heads into Cal's direction, but he stops her. "No," he says quietly so that he can't be heard outside. "Throw over the keys and keep looking for the gun."

She is wide-eyed when he mentions a gun but does as told. Cal catches the keys and fumbles around with them to unlock his handcuffs. He recognized the voice outside. It belongs to a convicted murderer. Even worse, everyone knows that he is also a rapist and that leaves little doubt as to why he is here. The man is twice Cal's size. There is no way he will be able to hold him back with bare hands.

"Dr. Foster?" The voice outside chants teasingly. "Got an itch I need you to scratch."

"There is no gun," Gillian's voice is shaking. "Are you sure it's here somewhere?"

"Has to be." Cal has unlocked the handcuffs and approaches the desk.

"Hey!" More shouting and throbbing at the door. "Come out or I come in."

"Cal..."

Gillian's facade starts to crumble. He wants to assure her that nothing is going to happen, but that would mean to deny the imminent threat. So he only stops for a moment and touches her arm softly, half pulling her toward him, half pushing her aside so that he can continue the search. It is kind of a physical assurance that he will do everything within his means to protect her. Gillian leans forward in need of his proximity. She is so close that he can feel her breath on his face. He doesn't think about it, just raises his hand and tenderly skims his fingers along her jawbone. It is an intimate gesture, and yet, there is nothing odd or inappropriate about it. Then he has to turn away from her to continue the search. When they sent him in here, they told him keys and gun would be in the desk if it came to the worst.

The door vibrates due to heavy kicks from outside. It won't withstand much longer.

Cal pulls out the drawers, emptying their contents on the floor, turning them around to look for hidden shelves. He doesn't care about the noise. It doesn't matter anymore. Gillian is standing next to him. She has stopped moving, thrown off balance by his obvious desperation. For once, he doesn't need to say anything so that she can read it in his voice. His behavior is all it takes for her to know the truth. The ugly truth. Without a gun, he won't be able to protect her.

From his perspective, rummaging around on the floor, Cal sees Gillian's legs. High heels, pantyhose, skirt. Cal wishes she'd wear pants. The gun has to be there, somewhere. _Please_. But his hands keep grasping at nothing. It happens. Sometimes a cleaner or one of the employees looks for stuff to steal, finds and takes the gun. He should have asked Gillian during one of their prior meetings to check if it still was there, probably should consider himself lucky that the keys were.

Cal straightens himself and looks Gillian in the eye. "There is no gun."

At this very moment, two things happen at once. The door eventually gives in and the alarm stops, giving way to an eerie silence that is broken by Gillian's quiet whimper at the sight of the inmate, ready to use violence.

The time for words is over. The man heads straight for his target – Gillian – only slightly irritated by the mess in the room. Automatically, Cal steps in front of her. He clenches his fists, aware that he can never win this fight. Perhaps he can stall for time, though, and a miracle will take place. But then the inmate seems to notice something and stops. Cal looks at Gillian who is standing behind him. Only now, he perceives that her appearance is a bit rumpled because of the frantic search she did. Her hair is tousled and the hem of her blouse hangs out partly. Cal looks at the inmate again who still doesn't move and then back at her. _I am supposed to act like one of them,_ his earlier thought crosses his mind. _Of course_. The man doesn't realize that Cal wants to protect her. He thinks Cal got to her first. The mess in the office and Gillian's somewhat ruffled appearance suggest that. His next words confirm Cal's assumption.

"Did I interrupt something?"

The inmate is an intelligent man. Cal remembers now that he talked to him once, remembers his despicable attitude toward women. He sees and treats them as property. Yet, he respects the property of another man. A heinous but simple logic that plays into his hands. The miracle he was hoping for.

Cal feels Gillian's body warmth, realizes only now that he stretched out his right arm in front of her, like a barrier, his hand loosely touching her hip. Another fact that is meant as a protective gesture but can be interpreted as possessive behavior. A man defending what is his. The irony is not lost on Cal. He knows now how he can protect Gillian. Save that it requires to do something he despises.

He turns around to face Gillian, turning his back on the other inmate in the process. Cal sees the worry and surprise in her face when he does so. Gillian doesn't know as yet that there is only one threat to her right now and that it is not the other inmate anymore. It's him. Even if he just has to pretend. There is fear in her face when she looks over his shoulder at the other man. It hurts Cal to know that this fear could be directed at him in a moment.

Cal grabs her shoulders as gently as possible. Given that he is going for tough and reckless, she flinches, anyway. You can only fake as much. The look of worry and surprise on her face becomes more intense, no longer merely a micro expression.

"You betcha!" Even if Cal is looking at Gillian, his words are meant as an answer for the prisoner behind him. "This one's mine. I was just getting started." Those words are also meant for him but even more for Gillian.

She caught every lie he told so far and Cal hopes that she caught this one, too, gets that he acts like he does because he wants to save her and not because he has suddenly gone rogue. He observes her micro expressions. Still surprise. Still worry. But then her facial expression changes and makes room for something else. Understanding. Bloody hell, she is good. Even under the present circumstances, she read him right.

"Then go ahead." Cal's plan is working. The reply of the inmate defuses the immediate threat, but he doesn't leave the room so that Cal has to keep his act up. As long as he is in here with them, his mood can change any moment.

Cal is still having a firm grip on Gillian's shoulders. He leans forward, pretending to kiss her neck, one of his hands in her hair now, holding her head in place so that he can whisper into her ear without raising suspicion, "Not going to hurt you. Just play along."

To complete his act, he needs Gillian to fight him off. Cal wants her to do it fully aware of his act, though, and not because she actually is afraid of him and feels as if she has to defend herself. When he leans back to look at her face, Gillian nods to him imperceptibly, her eyes jumping back and forth between the prisoner watching them and him. The man seems to enjoy the show, clicking his tongue.

"She has it coming. Come on, give her what she needs. Or do you want me to lend you a hand?"

Gillian's eyes are fixated on the inmates' face now, her gaze suddenly overshadowed by fear. Judging from the rustle behind him, Cal assumes that the man made a step into their direction. He needs to act fast and convincing, hoping that this is what it will take so that the prisoner accepts that Gillian is his territory and leaves for good.

Even if there is no way he can prepare her for what is about to happen next, Cal has to reassure himself that she agrees with his plan. Not that there is another option. Yet, it stings when he searches and finds something in her face he hasn't seen before. At least not to this extent. Trust.

Gillian's eyes snap back to his face when Cal's hands grab the collar of her blouse. _Sorry, luv_, he mouths before he rips it apart, shoving her toward the couch.

* * *

**- To be continued -**

_Let me get this straight: I do not tolerate (sexual) violence of any kind. This story is labeled angst, though, and angst is what you get (at least for the most part)._

_Next chapter: More Cal and Gillian in peril and perhaps some more about the mysterious "Loker" Hines called. ;)_


	7. Lockdown: No Place To Hide

**A/N: **For the general setting of the story see the A/N of the prologue. As always, thank you for reading and taking your time to leave a review. I can't even begin to tell you how much it means to me.

The** usual disclaimer **applies (see prologue).

* * *

_- Lockdown: No Place To Hide -_

* * *

It is one of those moments in life you wish you could unlive, press rewind so that it never happened.

Cal knows that Gillian knows it is all fake – that he doesn't actually assail her, doesn't intend to do her any arm. In fact, the opposite is true. She is only supposed to fight him as part of their enactment. Save that the body reacts by instinct. In case of an attack, you stretch out your hands to parry it off; your pulse quickens; your metabolism slows down, saving energy for the fight-or-flight response, and your pain tolerance increases so that injuries don't foil your defense. That is the physical part. If you are an expert in reading people, like Dr. Cal Lightman, you also see the variety of micro expressions flash in the face of the person that is attacked. He wishes he could turn it off, but he can't.

It's all there in Gillian's face. The effort to convince her body that she is not facing a real threat although all the indications are there as well as the resignation when she loses the struggle and gives in to fear, if only for a moment before she pulls herself together again. At one point, their eyes meet and Cal realizes that Gillian tries to hide her fear mostly for his benefit. As if she wasn't allowed to be afraid because he came up with this brilliant plan to save her, no matter how repellent its execution might be.

He tore her blouse apart and shoved her onto the couch, throwing himself on top of her. Their enactment has to be quick and authentic; Cal can neither afford to show hesitation nor weakness. It's a thin line between acting convincing and not actually hurting Gillian, let alone the humiliation he can't possibly avoid. He tries not to let his full weight rest on her body but when she keeps pushing against his chest to fake-fight him, like she is supposed to, Cal has to increase the pressure in return to make it look real. His lips sometimes meet skin and sometimes not due to their bodies constantly moving as he pretends to kiss her throat, skipping her cleavage that under realistic circumstances would have been a part of her body any actual attacker would have given much more attention to. Moreover, Cal's legs don't push hers apart but enwrap them instead. He can only hope that the prisoner behind him doesn't notice these things. For now, he obviously doesn't, his cheers of encouragement filling the room.

_Leave already, you bastard._ Cal seethes with anger. He has gone as far as he is willing to go. As it is, their fight, fake or not, will leave bruises on her delicate skin already and he doesn't intend to take the matter much further. Out of the corner of his eye, Cal catches a glimpse of Gillian's wrist that is bruised because of her fight with her fiancé. _Ex-fiancé_, he reminds himself, but it does nothing to diminish his anger. She shouldn't have to experience violence from two men within a brief span. She shouldn't have to experience violence from anyone at all. Ever. Cal uses his rage to push himself to the limit. _Do it. Don't think it over. She will understand. _He fumbles around until he finds the hem of her skirt and pushes it up.

"No." Gillian's hand grabs Cal's wrist to hold him back. Another instinctive reaction caused by fear or is she still enough in control of herself to play along? Cal can't tell and he has run out of time to find out.

"Bugger off," he yells at the inmate and feels Gillian wince underneath him when she hears the extent of his fury. "Not gonna let you watch my naked ass."

Cal is showered with abuse as a reply. Nevertheless, the man follows an unwritten, disgusting codex that obviously allows Cal privacy for the rape the prisoner believes he is about to commit and leaves.

As soon as he is certain that the inmate is gone, Cal jumps up and runs to the door that was taken off its hinges, slamming it shut as far as practicable. He supports himself against the door, breathing heavily. Gillian's perfume envelops him; it seems to stick to his skin, accusing him of what he had to do. His fists hit the wooden door again and again of their own accord until his knuckles are grazed and every hit leaves smears of blood. It is a rough way to make himself pay for his deeds, but it takes the edge off his rage so that he eventually is able to turn around and look at Gillian.

She has curled up into a ball on the couch, covering her face with her hands, oblivious of all around her now the immediate threat is no longer there. Her shoulders are shaking, and first, Cal thinks she is crying but when he gets closer to her, he realizes that her entire body is trembling in the aftermath of what happened. He carefully sits down at the end of the couch, next to her legs, and stretches out a hand to calm her but when it touches her upper thigh, close to her hip, he pulls it back. His touch probably is the last thing she wants to feel right now. To Cal's surprise, though, Gillian covers his hand with hers, clinging firmly to it. Her other hand still covers her eyes as she digs her fingers into Cal's skin almost painfully.

"I just need a minute," she mumbles

It's quiet in the hallway outside of the office. The riot seems to take place in another part of the prison currently. It makes what happened even more surreal.

"I'm sorry," Cal offers, aware that there are no appropriate words to describe what he is feeling or to soften her state of shock.

"It wasn't you," Gillian replies after a brief pause. She takes the hand away from her face but still doesn't look at him. "I know why you had to do it. It was him. The look in his eyes, his voice, the knowledge what would have happened if it hadn't been for you...," her voice trails off, Gillian's expression blank in spite of everything.

Although it seems to remain quiet outside for now, they need to leave. The risk is too high that other inmates come up with the idea of checking on the female prison psychologist or – even worse – that one certain inmate comes back to claim his right after he gave Cal the advantage.

"We have to get out of here," he gently reminds her.

Despite her condition, Gillian reacts, proving Cal's estimation of her strength of character to be true another time. She is not to be underestimated, no matter how bad the situation. She straightens herself with a start, letting go of his hand. Then she stands up, pondering on something for a moment before she takes off her high heels and pantyhose.

"I can't run in those," she explains, referring to her shoes. "And I would slip and fall if I ran wearing my pantyhose."

Gillian didn't turn away when she took off her pantyhose, obviously doesn't care about decency considering she already is standing in front of him half-naked. Her blouse is ruined – most of the buttons gone, the silky fabric torn. Only now, Cal notices the paste colors of her bra, the lace adorning it. He also notices there are more bruises here and there on her upper body. They are not fresh, already started to fade. Most likely more fallout from her fight with Alec. For a split second, the chronological disproportion of the situation hits Cal. He is attracted to Gillian and did think of situations when he would see her like this, minus the violence and the crude circumstances, of course. This is not how it was supposed to happen.

Cal takes off the top of his overall and the white cotton shirt every inmate wears underneath it.

"Here," he gives the shirt to her. "Put this on."

Gillian takes off her blouse and Cal turns away to give her some privacy, his naked upper body combined with her state of divestment suddenly feeling awkward, but she stops him.

"Hey," she touches his arm, her gaze lingering on his tattoo for a moment. When she makes eye contact, he sees a fierce determination. "I won't let what happened allow to influence...," Gillian searches for the right word, "...us. And neither should you."

Her statement is unexpected. A declaration in the middle of all this mess to assure him of her friendship and trust. Hearing her words, Cal realizes how much he actually needed to hear them. After all, he is the one who is supposed to get both of them out of this situation alive, but he also is the one who had to assail her in the process. And that diminished his self-confidence and has the potential to endanger them as a consequence. She is a psychologist and knows those things. Her face tells him, though, that it wasn't Dr. Gillian Foster, the psychologist, who just spoke to him. It was Gillian, his friend and confident, who wanted him to know so that their fragile, newly found bond doesn't fall victim to the circumstances.

Gillian's words are the impulse that sets them in motion. Cal puts the top of his overall on again, Gillian his shirt, casting her ruined blouse aside. Without her heels, they are not the same height anymore but still on an equal footing. She does not have his training or experience in close combat. Yet, her will to survive is as indomitable as his.

Cal takes her by the hand as they slip out of the room.

* * *

As opposed to the office, the light in the hallway is very bright. It illuminates every corner, the destruction evident. Damaged furnishings are lying all over the place, silent witnesses of the earlier outburst of violence. There are sounds of yelling and fighting in the distance. Apparently, the guards gave up this part of the prison and retreated into another section. Cal tries to recall the layout of the building. He memorized it when the mission started. Thus he knows that there is a disused emergency exit not far away from where they are right now. If they can make it there, he hopes to break the door and get Gillian out.

She quietly follows him as he leads her down the hallway round several corners. Just once, she holds her breath when they come across a body lying motionlessly on the ground. One of the guards. Cal bends down to check his pulse. There is none. Albeit there are no visible wounds, the man is dead. Probably a broken neck. Cal shakes his head so that she knows there is nothing they can do and pulls Gillian away from the body.

Suddenly, there is a crashing sound, much closer than the other noises. It's origin comes from one of the rooms they are about to pass. The doors are all wide open. Then they hear a woman whimper. Along with the layout of the building, Cal received information about the inmates and the staff beforehand. Only male prisoners, only male guards and staff except for one female cook maid. Visiting hours were already over when the riot started so that there should be no female visitors caught in the middle and the kitchen is located not far from here. Chances are that it was the cook maid whose whimper they heard. The crashing sound starts again, accompanied by more whimpering and a male voice that makes them stop dead in their tracks. It's the inmate who broke the door to Gillian's office. Judging from the sounds and his words, there is no doubt left that he found a surrogate to satisfy his perverted needs but hasn't gotten to her yet. Obviously, the woman is hiding or locked herself in somewhere.

"We have to help her," Gillian whispers.

Cal wants to. Every fiber of his body is tense and ready to fight even if the parameters haven't changed. The other man still is twice his size and he still would lose the fight. Close combat isn't much help when it comes upon street fighting against a much stronger opponent. The difference between the earlier situation in the office and now being that he would have fought with the prisoner regardless because it would have been about saving Gillian. Still is. And if Cal decided to help the other woman, he would risk that. He can't do both. Gillian might think so since he managed to prevent that harm was done to her. It is always about weighing the odds though. He can't save everyone. And as cruel as it is, Cal is not willing to reduce Gillian's chances of getting out unharmed. He shakes his head, _no_, giving her hand a tug to pull her away, but she doesn't move.

"I can't protect both of you," Cal speaks under his breath.

He understands that Gillian can't accept that, identifies with the other woman because she knows exactly what she is going through right now. In situations like these, choices are not about doing the proper thing, though, they are about who survives and who doesn't.

"I'll go back to help her later," he promises to reassure her, but Gillian looks at him the way she looked at the guard who promised her the same thing. Unlike the guard, Cal didn't lie. Yet, they both know that most likely _later_ will be too late.

There are no more objective arguments to convince her. Despite his urge to get away from this spot, Cal gives Gillian a moment to let her survival instinct gain the upper hand. Dragging her along behind him against her will would only slow them down. As expected, her posture slackens off slightly after a moment, implying that the resigned realization has sunk in, and they move forward.

"Don't look," Cal mouths when they sneak past the open door unnoticed, but she already did. Gillian saw the face of the woman behind a glass window of a door, leading into an adjoining room, and will never forget the expression of despair. The woman locked herself in, the prisoner throwing a chair against the glass again and again to break it and get in. By now, it has started to splinter.

Two more turns and there it is. The disused emergency exit. Cal can't believe that they actually managed to get there. He stops unlike Gillian who takes a few more steps away from him until she stops, too, covering her mouth with her hand to suppress a sob. She can't get the image of the woman they had to leave behind out of her head and closes her eyes in a futile effort to block reality out.

It's not difficult to discern the reason for her reaction. Cal goes up to her and enfolds her face with both of his hands, her silent tears running down his fingers as their foreheads touch and they lean on each other. Then the moment of comfort is over. Has to be. Even if they made it so far, they can't afford to lose time. Cal knows that Gillian understands and will manage to compose herself. Just as he approaches the sealed door of the disused emergency exit to find a way to open it, he hears voices and footsteps though. Several men are approaching them, and the way they talk, they are no guards.

They are trapped. The hallway ends at the sealed door; there is only one room between where they are and the next corner and since Cal can't tell how far away the men are, he doesn't want to risk taking a look around the corner. At least the door to the room is unlocked. He gently pushes Gillian inside only to be confronted with the next problem. No key. The door can't be locked. It's a small storage room. No other way out. No window. No place to hide. Only some metal racks. This is bad.

Cal's eyes frantically scour the room for anything that could be of help. Brooms and buckets are not exactly useful weapons. There are detergents, some of them containing acid, but with Gillian in the same room, he does not intend to use them. He could end up chemically burning her skin by accident. Then Cal's eyes make out something at the ceiling. A ventilation shaft. He pushes a rack of medium height under it as quietly as possible and climbs onto the rack. It sways a bit but carries his weight. He reaches up. It takes some pushing and pulling, but he is able to remove the ventilation grille. It's a small duct. However, there is enough space for a slender person to fit in.

_Come up here_, his gesture tells her. Albeit Gillian is aware of the situation, he can easily read in her face that she thinks he has gone crazy. She is in good shape but not well-toned and most likely never had to pull herself up into a ventilation shaft before. Either way, it is the only possible hideaway. Cal bends down, intertwining his fingers as a leg-up to show her how he plans to get her up there. Gillian looks at the door, footsteps and voices relentlessly coming closer. Then she climbs onto the rack without further ado. It sways some more but otherwise carries both of their weight. She grabs Cal's shoulders as support and puts one foot onto the leg-up so that he can lift her up. They almost fall off the rack when Gillian fails to get hold of the opening of the ventilation shaft at the first attempt. The second time, though, she succeeds. Cal lifts her up, her other foot steps on his shoulder, and then – suddenly – her weight is gone.

When she is up there, Gillian needs a moment to adjust herself, twisting and turning her body so that it fits into the small space. Cal knows that she expects him to follow her, but they have run out of time. He puts the grille back, letting it click into place, and jumps off the rack.

* * *

Gillian's heart is pounding like mad due to the physical effort and the rush of adrenaline. When the grille closes the opening of the ventilation shaft, the claustrophobic feeling of being sealed in quickly gives way to the shock that Cal hasn't joined her.

Lying face down, she is only able to see parts of the room through the grille, Cal's overall an orange blotch punctuated with stripes of silver metal. Then the door opens and three men enter the room. More orange blotches. Contrasting colors in a sea of gray.

One of the men steps forward and knees Cal in the guts without warning. Cal groans and half-collapses on the ground. A scream builds in the back of Gillian's throat, but she has the presence of mind not to let it out, her hands pressing against the grille so hard that the cold metal cuts into her fingers.

She sees the prisoner who kicked Cal lunge out again but this time she doesn't have to worry about suppressing a scream because a hand covers her mouth, a body effortlessly sliding over hers from behind like a shadow, rendering her immobile.

"Don't move and don't say anything." She hears the whispered words although she is not able to wrap her mind around their meaning. "I'm here to bring you to safety."

* * *

**- To be continued -**

Believe me or not when I tell you that I didn't intend to end this chapter with another cliffhanger but since it kept getting longer and longer, I thought this was a good point for a break.

Next chapter: In safety (?)


	8. In Safety

**A/N: **See prologue for general setting of the story and usual disclaimer. Thank you for reading and reviewing.

* * *

_In Safety_

* * *

**Three days later**

The conference room is spacious. At least 20 people could sit at the huge table save that there are only three people seated at the end of it right now. Her superior, Director Hines, plus – to his left and right side – another male respectively female she doesn't know. Gillian is seated at the opposite end. She has never been in here before. If the seating arrangements are meant to intimidate her, it is not working. Her absolute limit for anything has increased of late. In fact, she is everything but intimidated. Disappointed, angry, confused. You name it.

It's been three days that Cal and she fought for their survival in prison and she hasn't seen him since, hasn't heard a word from him. Gillian is aware that it was a wild guess to assume that he would stay in contact with her afterwards, no matter how close they were when it all happened. Extreme situations have that effect. They create a closeness that is necessary to survive but quickly fades as soon as things get back to normal. Except that it felt different with him – real despite the surreal circumstances. Nevertheless, it was an extreme situation and her imagination could have been playing tricks on her.

There is no Cal Lightman in the e-mail distribution list and his name in the register of the library is just that – a name. No address, no phone number, no nothing. There is no way she could contact him. Of course not. He is an undercover agent and not supposed to be found easily. Her contact details, however, are in the distribution list; plus, she has an office here. It would have been easy for him to find her if he had wanted to. The fact that he didn't show up, didn't call or mail her, proves the obvious. Their assignment is over and so is whatever she mistakenly thought had started between them. Considering what happened, it would be appropriate for her to be in a state of shock. All she is able to feel, though, is loss. Gillian can't understand how she could be so wrong. _Disappointed, angry, confused. _His absence in her life shouldn't mean that much to her, but it does. You don't choose who you...

"Dr. Foster?" Hines addresses her, not for the first time judging by the tone of his voice. "Let's go through the events of the riot and your rescue. OK?" He nods at her encouragingly and she reminds herself that this is standard procedure. He needs it for the final report.

The questions hail down on her steadily, but the interview is not as unpleasant as she thought it would be. Contrary to the tense atmosphere when she entered the room, neither questions nor questioners seem to aim at criticizing her or Cal's actions. It is simply an enumeration of what, when, how.

_So you and the undercover agent were in the office of the prison psychologist when the riot started?_

_- Yes._

Gillian expects them to ask her about everything that happened, but they don't. They merely ask about specifics, such as Cal getting rid off his handcuffs, and she realizes that they must have taken his statement first. It stings her. Another proof that he was in the same building at some point, could have made contact with her and didn't.

_And he pretended to assail you in order to stop another prisoner from raping you?_

_- Yes._

_That's when he tore your blouse apart that was found in the office?_

_- Yes._

_But the attack happened with your consent?_

_- Yes._

It is surprisingly easy to talk about that part because the imminent threat of the situation does no longer exist. Albeit it was a horrible experience, she will always be grateful that Cal protected her. The way he did it might sound strange to someone who wasn't there and can't comprehend the hopelessness that caused him to do it. When Gillian thinks of it, though, she doesn't remember an attack, she remembers how Cal put himself as a living barrier between her and a dangerous man who wanted to do her harm. Everything else is of no relevance.

The questions briefly linger over their walk through the demolished hallway and the dead guard they stumbled upon until they get to the last part. Her rescue or whatever you want to call it. She still hasn't figured it out herself. Gillian considered to talk to Hines about it in private before the interview, but instinct told her not to do it. Therefore, she has to find out what to tell and what not as the interview goes along. This is aggravated by the fact that this is the part of the story Cal couldn't put on record beforehand or only to some extent. They already know about the mysterious man in the ventilation shaft though.

_Do you know who the man in the vent was who rescued you?_

_- No._

_He didn't give you a name?_

_- No._

_Where did he come from?_

_- I have no idea._

_Can you describe him?_

_- Late twenties. Tall. Trim. Dark, wavy hair._

Hines asked most of the earlier questions but leaves it to his company to ask her about that part while he busies himself taking notes, politely ignoring her most of the time. When she describes the man, he looks up, though, and from the meaningful look he gives her, she assumes it's better to leave it at that.

Gillian could have said more, could describe the man in every detail. The man who appeared in the vent out of nowhere had blue eyes, a three-day-old-beard, and nicely curved lips. As weird as the thought was, given the situation, she considered him good-looking, albeit somewhat boyish, and clung to the hope that a man with his rather innocent appearance wouldn't harm her. After he had sneaked up on her and had made sure she wouldn't give away his presence, he made non-verbally clear that he wanted her to move over so that he could take her place so that he was able to observe what was going on in the storage room. Save that there was no room left to move over and she ended up pressing her back against the wall of the vent as he lay right beside her, his left arm basically stuck between her breasts. The forced, close proximity gave her the opportunity to memorize his features whereas he didn't even seem to notice their weird position, completely focused on the men below. That's when she realized he was a professional.

"Probably was one of the guards," Hines states casually in contrast, seemingly preoccupied in thoughts as he takes more notes. It tells Gillian all she needs to know.

It is a convenient explanation. No jail guard reported that he saved her, but five guards were killed and her rescuer could be one of them. It's a good cover story. And a lie. That man was no guard. He was dressed in black, didn't wear a uniform. Let alone that a guard wouldn't have saved Cal, too. If Hines brings it up, he must have checked that there is, indeed, a body that matches her description. At least remotely. There is always the possibility to attribute variations to her state of shock and confusion. Gillian doesn't know why Hines has to keep the role of the man and his role as string-puller a secret. Whilst taking into account that he obviously is responsible for her and Cal's survival, she won't throw him to the wolves.

Interesting how fast lines can blur. Under different, _normal_, circumstances she would have never considered lying to be an option. Here and now, it almost seems to be the logical continuation of the fake life she shared with Cal that only existed between those prison walls. In there, it was only the two of them trying to survive, and out here, it suddenly feels as if things haven't changed much. There is a secret around their rescue Hines doesn't want to share, and knowing him, she knows he does it for good reason. So she will stick to the cover story that it was a deceased guard who saved her and skip the rest, hoping that Hines' reaction will help her through the tricky part because she has no idea what Cal told them how he got out. Maybe she is lucky and they don't even ask her about it.

As it is, Gillian focuses on the absolutely necessary facts. There was a man in the vent with her. He showed her the escape path through it. It ended somewhere at the back of the building. The man removed the grille so that she could climb down. There was an empty parking lot; she saw police cars and ambulances in the distance. When she turned around, the man was gone and she approached the flickering lights in the distance.

Her detached words are like a censored movie, showing only the images she allows to be shown. That last image of her, standing in that forlorn place, staring at the flickering lights that represented life and safety, bring back the actual memories. She wasn't alone there. It was the last time she saw Cal. Gillian's memory convulses and pushes her back to the moment when her alleged rescue started. Save that it wasn't a happy coincidence; there was no heroic guard. She and Cal were exfiltrated in a professional, meticulously planned way.

* * *

**Flashback**

Gillian feels dizzy and concentrates on her breathing. Things will get on top of her if she won't manage to calm down, physical effort and emotional drain taking a toll on her. For a moment, she focuses on nothing but that, just breathes in and out, tries to fight trepidation as best as she can given their claustrophobic surroundings.

The man has taken her place, lying face down in the vent so that he can observe Cal and the prisoners through the ventilation grille. Pressed sideways, Gillian doesn't have a good look anymore, but she is still able to make Cal out. He took several hits and groans with pain; there is blood on his face and overall. Cal keeps his self-defense to a minimum, fends off only the worst blows. Anything to protect his cover. The average criminal does not have training in close combat. Therefore he can't use his abilities to their full extent. Cal's groans go right through Gillian; it pains her to see him like this. He helped her when she was in danger, and here she is, helplessly having to watch his physical abuse.

_I'm here to bring you to safety._

That's what the man said to her. Then why are they still here? Why doesn't the man do anything to help Cal?

Only now, she has a closer look at him. Gillian interpreted his words as confirmation that he would bring her _and_ _Cal_ to safety whereas he didn't necessarily mean that. Since he is wearing no orange overall, her subconsciousness automatically gave her an all-clear signal, the mere knowledge that he is no prisoner and that his presence doesn't mean more danger such a relief that she forgot to ask the crucial question. Who is he? He is dressed in black from head to toe. No one in here is dressed that way. Not the guards, not the other employees. Something starts to tingle in the back of Gillian's mind. Then he starts to speak. At first she thinks he is talking to her before she perceives that he has one of those in-ear headphones and is talking to someone else. His words make no sense until their meaning starts to sink in. Then they make her shudder.

"Target A is with me. Visual on Target B. Cover not compromised. Awaiting orders."

Gillian knows two things for sure now. For one thing, the man is aware who Cal and she are. His presence is no coincidence; he is here on purpose. For another thing, the man might help them; he doesn't actually care about their well-being though. Instead, she and Cal are at his mercy. If he will save one or both of them, he will do so because that's what he was ordered to do. An order that might be revoked any minute, leaving the question who is giving him orders.

"Who are you? Who sent you? Who are you talking to?" It probably would be wiser to remain silent, but hearing Cal suffer lets Gillian's patience snap. She throws all caution to the wind, having difficulties to keep her voice down. If it hadn't been for the hitting and grunting below, the prisoners might have heard her.

The man's reaction is quick and relentless. His left arm pins her even more to the wall, pushing the air out of her lungs hereby. He looks her straight in the eye, his boyish features suddenly gone. All Gillian sees is cold determination and professional detachment. Then he smiles frostily.

"Sh," he hushes her, putting his finger against his lips as if she was an upset child and he needed to calm her. "Just let me do my job and you'll be out of here soon."

As if she cared about getting out without Cal. Gillian hears the prisoners laughing. Out of the corner of her eye she sees how Cal collapses and falls to the ground after another round of blows.

"Please. Help him," she breathes, but the man already has turned his attention away from her back to the scenery below where another prisoner has entered the room.

The group dynamics change. The newly arrived prisoner seems to be the one in charge, sending the others out of the room so that it's only him and Cal. Cal addresses him as Donny. The name sounds familiar and Gillian remembers that he is the prisoner Cal received the needed information from. The information he passed on to his contact. She tenses even more. This is not good.

"Sorry for the inconveniences," she hears Donny say with a false politeness that makes her flesh crawl. "They were supposed to find you. The rest was just for fun. Didn't tell them to beat you up. I do not approve uncalled-for violence."

Cal mumbles something in response she can't understand. _U__ncalled-for violence..._This is the man who gave the kill order for the rookie dealer that poached in his territory. One of undoubtedly many cases in which he considered violence called for.

The whispered voice of the man next to her diverts her attention. "Contact person arrived. Cover possibly compromised." His voice is faintly audible as he updates the person at the other end of the line. At the same time, he pulls something out of his jacket, something small and grayish that he points at the men below through the bars of the ventilation grille. A gun.

_Oh God! _That changes everything. Does he intend to kill Cal or use it to protect him? Gillian doesn't know what to do. It is futile to ask. The man made it quite clear that he won't tell her anything. If she screams and warns Cal, it will be too late, anyway. As if things couldn't get worse, she sees how the prisoner, Donny, also points a gun at Cal.

"Please. Don't. Kill him." Gillian isn't aware that she is talking in a whisper until she hears the words repeated over and over, erasing every other thought. She doesn't even know who she is talking to – the prisoner or the man next to her.

_Please. Don't. Kill him. _

"The son of a friend was taken into custody," Donny says. "Just after I told you some stuff about him. Kind of a coincidence, huh?" He cocks the gun.

_Please. Don't. Kill him. _

"Target B. Code Red." Gillian is barely aware of the man next to her talking and receiving orders. All she sees is Cal. His mouth moves in an effort to convince Donny that he had nothing to do with the arrest, his hands and body language underlining his story, albeit she is not able to hear, let alone understand, the words. Nothing that happens makes any sense. Out of nowhere, the question crosses her mind what day it is. Monday? Tuesday? When does she have to pick up her laundry from the dry cleaning store? Her synapses are firing random ideas at her to occupy her mind so that she doesn't lose it. "Copy that." More words that make no sense, coming from the man next to her this time.

_Pleasedon'tkillhim_

She doesn't even hear the shot. Later, Gillian realizes that he must have used a silencer. Then and there, she only realizes that something happened when she sees the orange overall sway and fall to the ground. The world is spinning. Her body convulses, equally in shock and in an effort to free herself, but the man keeps her pinned to the wall for a bit longer until he releases the pressure so that she can move. Or could move if there was space. The man quietly removes the ventilation grille, and with the grille gone, Gillian finally is able to take a look. A pool of blood appears around Donny's head, a small entry wound on his forehead the only indication that it was no accident. His death was quick, precisely executed.

"Cal," she half-shouts, half-whispers.

If he is surprised that Donny is dead or that there is a man in the vent with her, Cal doesn't let it show. It's probably not the first time things like that happen during one of his undercover missions.

"Gillian? Are you ok?"

"Yes." Not exactly. But he is alive, they both are. Nothing else matters.

After the tense waiting there is only movement now.

"Go." The man pushes Gillian, indicating that she is supposed to crawl down the ventilation shaft.

She assures herself that Cal will follow and then starts on her weird journey, making room for him to climb in. They make their way through the ventilation system one after the after. Gillian first, Cal last, the man between them. It is exhausting to move forward in this confined space but eventually they reach another ventilation grille. The man squeezes himself into the non-existent room next to her and pushes it open. Obviously that's the way he came in and made sure they had an exit.

At first Gillian thinks they are still in the building because all she sees is black. Then she realizes that it must have gotten dark outside. She has no idea how much time has passed but considering that Cal was her last appointment in the afternoon, it must be sometime at night. The ventilation shaft seems to have ended in some kind of backyard of the prison. The opening is approximately six or seven feet aboveground; she lowers herself down with her legs first. Under different circumstances, she would have worried about falling and hurting herself. As it is, all she wants is to get out of this space that makes it difficult for her to breathe, away from that man who killed someone in cold blood and whose physical closeness sickens her.

She has almost made it when two hands grab her. Gillian screams and starts fighting whoever it is, hearing Cal shout her name in the background.

"Dr. Foster." A male voice in the dark. No one fights back, and only now, she realizes that those hands didn't attack her but helped her down. There are no streetlights but when she takes a closer look, she recognizes him in spite of the darkness. It's Hines, her superior. "I'm glad you're ok," he says.

Is she? Gillian doesn't know, can't think straight. What is he doing here? Will it ever stop?

"What happened?" It seems to be the only logical thing to ask. Can someone please explain everything to her so that it makes sense?

At least to some extent, he can. "A riot. Caused by a feud between two inmates. It had nothing to do with the assignment, but I needed to make sure that you got out."

"Did you sent this man?" Gillian knows that he got out right behind her, followed by Cal, but when she turns around, only Cal is standing there.

"You should let yourself get checked out," Hines tells Gillian, ignoring her question. "There are ambulances waiting over there." He points at flickering lights in the distance. After a pause, he adds, "Probably better not to mention that you saw me here. Sorry, there's no time to discuss a cover story." Hines turns around to Cal. "We have to go."

There are still many questions unanswered. However, the basics are clear. Hines sent that man to save her and Cal. For whatever reason he has to keep it a secret.

It's cold and raining. Barefoot and wearing only a skirt and Cal's shirt, Gillian freezes bitterly. She wouldn't mind to stay in the cold a bit longer, though, if it allowed her a moment alone with Cal. He was with her the entire time. He saved her life and she feared he would lose his. They deserve a moment of peace. Cal has gotten closer during her talk with Hines. Now that he received his orders to leave with him, she can tell that he doesn't want to go, but there is not much he can do. He's still on a mission and orders are orders.

"Go to the ambulance before you freeze to death," he says concerned, holding her hand briefly before he has to let go.

Gillian watches the two men walk away, being swallowed by darkness, before she walks off in the opposite direction. She feels like in trance. The random thought crosses her mind that she needs to call Alec so that he won't worry. Then she remembers that she has no fiancé anymore. No one knows she is here. No one will be waiting for her at home. She walks on, wiping raindrops off her face until she realizes that it is not raining anymore. She is crying.

* * *

**Present**

In the end, they didn't ask a lot of questions as if they, too, just wanted it to be over. Hines subtly intervened whenever Gillian's story threatened to contradict Cal's earlier statement. The guard must have gone back after he got her out. That's when he got killed. The undercover agent also used the ventilation shaft as an exit route without the guard, or her, recognizing. That's what Cal told them and that's what she confirmed. A story full of holes but waterproof as long as no one casted doubt on it.

In between, Gillian asked about the woman Cal and she'd had to leave behind. The number of persons killed and injured had been confirmed, but the names hadn't been published so that she didn't know whether there was a woman among them or not. They told her that, yes, one woman had been part of the staff, a cook maid, and no, unfortunately she hadn't made it, had been attacked and killed by a prisoner. Gillian didn't ask about details; she didn't need to. In a way it felt as if that woman had died in her stead. Maybe they could have saved her if they had gone back to take her with them, maybe they would have been too late one way or the other and it only would have gotten them killed, too. Let alone that Hines' escort service would have never allowed them to go back. Still, it will haunt her forever.

"Thank you for your statement, Dr. Foster," Hines closes the interview.

Hines watches Gillian walk out. She did a good job. He had worried that she'd blow the cover story, however couldn't risk to get in contact with her beforehand. Being there in the backyard of the prison was risky enough, but he had to be there, had to make sure that they got out safely after he just had lost another agent. Nevertheless, he needs to avoid being linked to their rescue at all costs because he'd had no official approval to go through with it and his superiors don't appreciate being disregarded. There will be consequences if they find out. So he'd had no alternative but to trust in Dr. Gillian Foster's special skills regarding reading people's voices and it worked. When he hinted at a guard being the one who had rescued her, she took the hint and reacted accordingly.

Sometimes things turn to good account despite the worst circumstances. The fact that Matthew Banida had been taken into custody had been more than bad timing. Yet, the high-level officials wanted to wait on Banida's release and upcoming second arrest before pulling out Cal. Hines knows, though, how fast rumors spread in prison. Throw in the riot as another unplanned extra and he is convinced Dr. Gillian Foster and Dr. Cal Lightman would be dead by now if it wasn't for his decision.

Eli Loker is one of the freelancers on a payroll only few people have access to, including Hines. Everything about those assignments is strictly confidential, solely between freelancer and client. No one will ever know. Loker is an interesting man. In private life, he studies human nature. For a living, he executes what he is paid for, his appearance the perfect cover. A wolf in sheep's clothing.

A little less than 24 hours after Banida had been released from custody, they arrested him for the crimes Lightman had told them about. Enough leverage to blackmail Banida's father so that the terrorist attack could be prevented. Their quick-and-dirty plan worked out. Everything else is settled, too. The riot is under control; they informed the warden that the one prisoner that had managed to escape, had been caught and taken care of because he is relevant to a federal investigation. There will be other plans for other attacks, of course. But for now, lives were saved. Foster and Lightman are alive. Hines will sleep well tonight.

* * *

It's Friday afternoon, but Gillian doesn't look forward to the approaching weekend. In fact, she dreads leaving the office, her apartment no longer a place that feels like home after what happened between Alec and her. Even the nights don't bring relief albeit it comes as no surprise that nightmares torment her.

Subsequent to her experiences during the riot, Gillian was offered therapy, but she declined. She knows the symptoms of PTSD too well, treated many patients suffering from it, and although she can't treat herself and wouldn't try, making a reliable diagnosis is a different matter. She doesn't need therapy; she only needs time to heal.

The sun has set. After her interview for the final report, she went through some patient files, but there is no use in lingering any longer. Gillian shuts down her computer and is about to leave when she hears a knock at her door.

"Yes?"

It's most likely the cleaning crew. Gillian doesn't bother to look, putting on her coat and grabbing her purse on her way out, almost bumping into the person standing in the door frame. Cal. His nose is broken and there are several ugly bruises in his face, but it's him. Seems as if he eventually decided to find her.

"Hey, luv."

* * *

**- To be continued -**

Next chapter: Callian. Lots of it.


	9. Home

**A/N:** For the general setting of the story see the A/N of the prologue. This chapter is written alternately from Gillian's and Cal's point of view and begins right where the last one ended. It was a lot of fun to write Cal and Gillian getting closer without the restrictions of the show, without them knowing and dancing around each other for so many years. Rating for content. Strong T or even light M regarding the last part.

Moreover, this is a shout-out to those of you who have constantly supported me throughout this story (and beyond) – no matter whether you reviewed, PM'ed me or tweeted: **Roadrunnerz, jenron12, Beloved-the-Fool, NElaineR, Depends-On-The-Lie, ChloeTK, thousand-miles**: If it weren't for you, I would enjoy writing and posting LTM stories only half as much. Thanks a bunch!

The** usual disclaimer **applies (see prologue).

* * *

_- Home -_

* * *

Gillian has been telling herself that she missed Cal because of their newly found friendship. She doesn't trust people easily, but somehow he has made it to the top of her list within the short time span they have been knowing each other. Moreover, he is a scientist, an expert in reading people. She also missed their interesting, controversial discussions. Here and now, though, when he is standing right in front of her, she accepts that all she has been doing was deliberately denying the obvious. Most of all, she missed Cal because she has fallen for him hook, line and sinker. Sometime in the middle of their assignment while they were feigning therapy sessions and she was ending her engagement, sometime amidst the riot, the fake attack and his almost death, it happened and there is absolutely nothing she can do about it. Not that she wants to. Gillian is not the kind of woman to exchange one man for the other, but the last weeks have shown her that life didn't hesitate to seemingly arbitrarily confront her with situations she never would have imagined to have to live through and that she is capable of doing things she never considered possible. And if there was one good thing among the many terrible occurrences, than it's that she met Cal.

There is a radiant smile on her face; she can feel it and he doesn't need to be an expert to read it. Gillian is about to close the distance between them and hug Cal when she realizes that he doesn't smile back at her. He is lingering, neither coming closer nor leaving again, his body swaying back and forth as if he can't decide what is the right thing to do.

"How's your head?" she reaches out to touch his cheek, carefully, of course, because of the bruises, but he flinches and she pulls her hand back.

"I'm just glad you're alright." Gillian's expert knowledge steps in. She sees a man deeply disturbed by something. She doesn't understand why though. He is the pro, for sure had experienced situations much worse than what happened in prison. Yet, there seems to be a role reversal; she seems to handle the fallout much better than he.

At least this gets her an answer. "Yeah. Glad you're alright, too," he says, but that's not what he means. Cal doesn't think she's alright. He couldn't even look her in the eye when he finished the sentence. Cal looks down and then back at her, inclining his head sideways. His facial expression is tense, his eyes narrowed to slits, when he eventually admits what is bothering him, "Are you? Alright? I mean... you can't be considering what happened."

"I'm OK. You saved me. Don't you remember?" Gillian reaches out again, touching his arm, and this time he doesn't flinch. The contact causes her pulse to quicken. The urge to throw herself in his arms and engulf him in a hug, if only to assure herself of his physical presence, is ridiculous.

Cal makes a face. "Oh, I remember. Quite accurately, I'd say. Not much saving going on. Mostly nasty things."

Of course. Being a psychologist, she should have known immediately, but Gillian has a hard time thinking as an expert when he is so close. Cal feels guilty because of what he did. The feigned attack.

She holds his gaze. It hurts her to see him suffer. What happened, happened. There was no other choice; she doesn't hold a grudge against him. Au contraire. "I'm fine," Gillian assures him. "Nothing you did was wrong or hurt me in any way."

Well, physically speaking, it's a lie. What Cal did, hurt her. The way he grabbed her, shoved her on the couch and launched himself on her was painful, albeit feigned. This is about the emotional aftermath though. And the mere knowledge what would have happened if he hadn't acted like he did, lets the pain caused by the minor injuries his actions inflicted on her disappear in an instant. She is here, overall unharmed, let alone _alive_, because of him.

"It's the truth. Just read me."

His look that has been erratically jumping to and fro between her and everywhere else finally rests on her face and he relaxes.

Gillian understands that what happened has been bothering Cal. She just doesn't understand why it affected him that much. Again, he is the pro; he for sure had experienced situations much worse unless... Maybe she is not the only one having trouble thinking straight when they are that close. There is only one way to find out.

"Why are you really here? What do you want?"

After all they have been through, she doesn't intend to waste time on vague periphrases. If he is here because of what she believes, if he is here for her, then he can have her.

* * *

He wanted to see her so bad. Three days rarely have been dragging on for so long. But he couldn't. At least not immediately. Ending the assignment properly had to take top priority. After they had escaped from prison, so to speak, he and Hines talked the contingencies through. Fortunately, they didn't need to activate another fallback plan when Banida was first released from custody and then arrested again shortly after, this time for serious crimes. With Banida behind bars, Cal's decision to get out of prison was considered an acceptable move given that he plausibly attested that his cover otherwise would have been blown during the riot (and they had to make it solely his decision because Hines couldn't be involved). Cal gave no explanation for Donny's death, pretended the inmate had been alive when he left. There is no explanation needed. People die during riots. Case closed.

Technically speaking, Cal could have gone to see Gillian as soon as Banida had been arrested and the mission was formally over. There were no restrictions holding him back anymore. No matter how badly he wanted to see her, though, he deferred it until they both had given their statements, until he had no further argument to delay the inevitable.

The one image Cal couldn't get out of his head was Gillian standing in the backyard at night. He had hated to leave her like that, looking so fragile and lonely. He knows she is not fragile; she proved it to him more than once but as many flaws as he might have, to his credit Cal is fiercely protective when it comes to the people closest to him. Save that he hadn't realized that Gillian had made it quietly and unobtrusively among this handful of people in his life until he couldn't get rid of this image of her. And that again let him discern that going to see her wouldn't just be about checking on her as part of bringing their assignment to an end. It would be about... more. And more combined with Cal Lightman unavoidably means a potential risk. Hasn't he endangered and harmed her enough already?

He went to see her, either way, couldn't stay away from her any longer. On his way to Gillian's office, Cal made a deal with himself. If he saw even the tiniest micro expression of discomfort or hesitation in her face due to his presence, he would just check on her, leave and never come back. Cal Lightman, deception expert, knows exactly what he is doing; it is only more comfortable to push the awareness to the back of his mind. He will let Gillian decide whether she wants him to stay or to leave, ignoring that you can't make a decision in all objectivity if you merely know half of the facts.

Gillian doesn't know that he is a train wreck when it comes to relationships or that he enjoys a little too much to put himself in danger. Cal's track record regarding women includes countless affairs, a failed marriage, and no serious relationship after that. The only functioning long-term commitment in his entire life is the one to his daughter. It's okay with him; Cal doesn't want or need more. When he met Gillian, though, it was as if he suddenly was offered the chance to learn a foreign language he always wanted to speak. It was different. _She_ is different. He can't miss this chance. Provided she lets him take it. He only has to make sure that the darkness that surrounds parts of his life won't seep in hers, poisoning what he considers to be her pure soul. It's a bit overly dramatic, but that's what it felt like when he tried to get her out of prison during the riot. Gillian simply didn't belong there, even not as a psychologist, even if it is her profession, her entire personality a living contradiction to the rottenness of that place. It's this essence of her that draws Cal to her the most – well, aside from the fact that she is intelligent and beautiful.

Cal can tell Gillian expected someone else, wondering whether she has been thinking of him at all other than in the context of the horrible incidents in prison. After he knocked at her door and her distant _yes_ gave him permission to enter, she doesn't even look in his direction, only sees him when she is about to go out. The moment she realizes it's him, there is no micro expression of discomfort, hesitation, or anything that would force him to stick by his deal and leave. On the contrary. Gillian is delighted to see him and wants him to stay. It is there. Everywhere. In her smile when she catches sight of him, in her touch when she reaches out, and in her eyes when she looks squarely into his.

_Why are you really here? What do you want?_

Her pupils are dilated. If he checked her pulse, Cal is certain it would be quick, her skin slightly burning up. Sexual arousal. He can't believe it. Any objective observer wouldn't notice it because on the surface Gillian acts as friendly and warm-hearted as he has gotten to know her. However, he can see right through her. Gillian is attracted to him and she wants him to know it. Cal has no idea what he possibly could have done to deserve that.

He reaches out and touches the back of her neck. It is a brazen move and he wouldn't have done it if he hadn't seen what she offered of her own accord. Gillian catches her breath; perhaps she thinks he will kiss her, but that's not what Cal has in mind. At least not yet. She doesn't move, her eyes dropping to his lips when he speaks.

"I want to show you something."

* * *

They are sitting at Cal's dining table. Gillian didn't hesitate to follow him home when he asked her. It was an emotionally charged moment between them after her question why he had come to see her and what he wanted. His answer that he wanted to show her something could have been innuendo, but his tone of voice told her that it wasn't. Cal actually wanted to show her something. Something that meant a lot to him.

She was surprised to find out that he lives in a house. Somehow, Gillian had envisioned his home to be a furnished studio flat, a place where he doesn't spend much time due to his job. Well, obviously she had been taken in by cliché. Cal is not the lonely wolf she imagined him to be. He must have caught her surprise because although she didn't comment on it, he explained that his ex-wife, Zoe, and he had bought the house and that he had kept it as part of their divorce settlement so that his daughter, Emily, can sleep in her old room when she visits him. _Zoe and Emily..._ Cal hadn't told her their names when he had mentioned his family in prison, had kept the information about them to a minimum. For a brief moment, Gillian pictured Cal with another woman, a little girl walking between them, and felt an unexpected stab of jealousy and loss. Cal has a family. Even if he is divorced, his daughter will always form a bond between him and his ex-wife whereas she, on the other hand, has nothing, her plans to marry and have children dashed. It was an irrational thought; Gillian was aware of it. _She_ decided to leave Alec. _She_ wants to be here with Cal instead. And yet, it was another proof that life as Gillian had known it, doesn't exist any longer.

There was no time to wallow in shattered memories though. Cal took out his laptop and showed her the feed of a surveillance camera. Right now, Gillian is still looking at it, not sure what it is that he wants her to see. It seems to be the entrance area of a mall. Apparently, this is no digital recording; they are looking at it in real time. Gillian avoids to think about the fact that Cal most likely hacked into the security system of the mall to show it to her. Or perhaps this feature comes with the standard equipment of undercover agents. Cal looks at his watch, then at the screen. It's Friday afternoon; the mall is crowed. People are hurrying past or strolling. Women, men, children, a bunch of teenagers having fun.

"Now."

Cal stops the feed to a freeze frame as Gillian looks alternately at him and the screen.

"What is it? What do you want me to see?"

"That." Cal points at a toddler, sleeping in a buggy. "And that." He points at an elderly couple, holding hands. "Because without you they would all be dead by now."

She stares at him. "I don't understand."

"5:30 PM. That's when the bomb was supposed to explode."

Gillian knows that the aim of their assignment was to prevent a terrorist attack. Cal told her, not Hines. If it had been up to her superiors, they would have kept her in the dark.

"Oh my God!" She lets the information sink in, covering her mouth with her hand while surveying the freeze image. So many people. So many innocent lives.

They hadn't known it was such a close call, Cal tells her. In the end, it wasn't even a question of days but hours. The attack would have taken place today. Hundreds of people would have been killed and injured if their mission hadn't been successful.

Gillian feels Cal looking at her, but she can't tear her eyes away from the screen. His hand is resting on her shoulder and she grasps it.

"Thank you for showing me that."

She understands now why it was so important to him. No matter how horrible the things were that happened, knowing how many lives they saved helps to put things in perspective and not lose sight of the big picture.

For a moment, they just sit there together in silence. Then Cal gets fidgety. He doesn't stand up, though, remains sitting next to her as if he is not sure about what should happen next. It would be the proper moment to leave, but leaving him and going home to her empty apartment is the last thing on Gillian's mind. During the last days she has been shaken, has been dealing with the aftermath of everything that's happened plus Cal's absence that felt like a void in her life. Here and now, she feels perfectly calm. _The big picture._ The bad things in prison had to happen so that they could save all those people. The bad things in her life had to happen so that she could not only meet Cal but let him in her life. A life that has been moving fast forward lately until it came to a halt along with the freeze frame.

"Are you hungry?" Cal eventually breaks the silence, even more fidgety than before. He stands up, perhaps to go to the kitchen and get her something in case she says yes, but her answer stops him.

"No." Gillian shakes her head. A thought crosses her mind. "You know, you could have brought your laptop to my office and shown me there."

"Nah." He shakes his head, grinning broadly. "Not a good idea to use the office WiFi for that." So he did hack into the security system of the mall.

"And even better because it brought me here."

He tilts his head back; she can tell that he is trying to read her.

The Gillian Foster from a few weeks ago would have never done this, would have come up with a million arguments why it is wrong to do what she is about to do. As it is, she can't think of one single argument that could convince her to stop.

She stands up. Cal is right next to her, mesmerized by something he sees in her face, taking her appearance in. She is wearing a wrap dress. As she gets closer, she loosens the belt so that the sheer fabric slides apart and reveals what's underneath.

* * *

Cal doesn't even know where to begin. He saw it in her face, but he thought he must have been mistaken. She couldn't... Then she made that smooth, almost casual move that caused the fabric of her dress to gape open and... Wow. This is sexy. She is sexy. It's not only about the silk and lace and skin he sees though. The desire in her face turns him on even more. There was a brief insecurity when she reached for her belt, but it is gone now.

Gillian puts the laptop aside to make room on the table, half sitting down on it as she gives his shirt a tug, indicating that she wants him closer to her.

"I don't usually do this," she breathes. Oh, he can tell that by the myriad of emotions reflected on her face.

"I do," he admits. "But not with a woman like you."

He didn't say it to make her go on. His words seem to erase some last doubts she might have had though. There is another tug at his shirt, so soft that he almost doesn't notice it until his body makes another step forward so that he is placed right between her legs, his hands slipping under her dress as she kisses him.

This is no quickie. At least not in the classical sense. No hurried, rough sex in a frenzy to fulfill a physical need albeit the way she offers herself to him implicates that she doesn't want a slow seduction either. Cal breaks their kiss to look at Gillian, his hands resting on her knees for a moment before he lets them wander upwards along her upper thighs. Her pupils are almost black by now. The way his touch affects her breathing tells him that foreplay will be skipped today. All of his senses are highly keen, and obviously, she feels the same way. It's intense. What happens between them feels like a natural conclusion of the whirlwind of activity during the last days and weeks. They both need this.

"Take it off," she mumbles, tugging at his shirt. He does while she is fumbling around with his belt.

There is no further undressing. Underwear is pushed aside as far as necessary. Gillian doesn't lean back but clings to him so that Cal can feel her heartbeat racing as their bodies move – erratically first until they fall in step.

Gillian seems to be into kissing. She only abandons his lips whenever she needs to take a breath, her throaty moans an electrifying tune. When he slightly shifts position, though, she holds her breath.

"Don't move," she whispers.

At this point, it takes a great deal of self-restraint to fulfill her desire, but somehow Cal manages to do so. Especially since he knows the reason for it. Her thighs are trembling. Gillian is on the edge, trying to prolong her pleasure. For once, she doesn't kiss him; her mouth is next to his ear, her pants for breath a sensual overdose.

"Gill..." He is not sure how long he will be able to keep this up. She is not the only one fighting for self-control.

Cal intended to say her name but somehow ended up with this short version that sounds like a term of endearment. He could get used to it. Almost certainly when it does things like that to her. The moment Gillian hears him say it, she comes undone, taking him along. She cocks her head, her upper body arching towards his. Gillian might have said his name, too, or maybe it was just wishful thinking. There is a whirring in Cal's ears as his body calms down after the rapture, his arms wrapped around her, holding her upright. He inhales her perfume and remembers that it was the first thing he noticed when he opened the door to her office. She always wears the same perfume; his memory is already conditioned to think of her whenever he scents it.

When he stood there, in front of her office door, he doubted about whether to knock or not. The doubts are still there. Cal could name many reasons why he should have known better than to let Gillian come that close to him. For her sake, of course. But all this doesn't matter right now. Not when he feels like he hasn't been feeling for a long time – as if he got home after having been out there in the cold for much too long.

* * *

**- To be continued -**

Next chapter: More Callian plus probably the first steps towards the next storyline that will lead to the explosion.

Updates might get a bit irregular due to my upcoming work schedule. Just so you know. The story will definitely continue.


	10. It's All Or Nothing Now

**A/N:** For the general setting of the story see the A/N of the prologue.

Welcome to a chapter filled to the brim with fluff (at least what counts as fluff by my standards) amidst this otherwise angst-ridden story. I thought Cal and Gillian deserved a little break.

The** usual disclaimer **applies (see prologue).

* * *

_- It's All Or Nothing Now -_

* * *

Cal wakes up in his bed, his face buried in his pillow, and remembers everything in an instant when he breathes in Gillian's perfume that clings to the fabric. She stayed overnight after they had made love. They didn't talk much afterwards, but when he asked her to stay instead of driving all the way home, she agreed without further ado. Somehow, he had expected her to consider sleeping in his spare room. She didn't show the slightest inclination that she felt uncomfortable sleeping in his bed though. If he hadn't been so tired after the last couple of days (and still suffering from his injuries), Cal would have gone for a second round the moment he had her in his bed. As it was, simply holding her was the perfect ending of an unexpected day. They got between the blankets in their underwear, nestled up to each other, and within minutes they dropped off.

It has to be morning. Birds twitter outside and rays of sunshine warm his face. He forgot to shut the blinds last night. Cal feels for Gillian's warm body next to his without opening his eyes. Nothing. The sheets on her side are rumpled but cold. Cal sits up with a jerk to find her standing beside the bed. Gillian is fully dressed and obviously feeling uncomfortable. Even if he has just woken up, he can see as much. The morning after. Here they go.

"Sorry, I didn't want to wake you," she says.

There is a brief, awkward pause. Why is she dressed and needs to leave? It is no workday.

"Were you planning on sneaking out?" Cal goes for witty, aware that Gillian most likely hears the subtext. Hurt. _Was she? _Sneaking out that is. He turns his head to look at his alarm on the nightstand but can't see it from his viewing direction. "What time is it, anyway?"

Gillian inclines her head; her delicate features relax. Maybe she needed a dose of witty Cal, subtext or not, to overcome the initial awkwardness. A disarming smile appears on her face. "9 AM and _no_, I was _not_ planning on sneaking out."

Actually, she has been lurking around for at least fifteen minutes, didn't want to leave after she had gotten dressed and he was still asleep, not least because she realized that...

"I don't even have your phone number," she blurts out. "And I..." Gillian shrugs her shoulders in embarrassment. "...I don't know how it works. You, being an undercover agent. I didn't want to leave and risk... finding you gone when I come back."

So, no sneaking out. That's good. Plus, she intends to come back, didn't want to leave without being sure that he wouldn't vanish. That's not only good. That's _fantastic_.

Cal rolls over and grabs hold of her hand. Gillian sits down at the edge of the bed, but he won't have it, clasping her waist and pulling her closer until she is lying next to him. He is wearing briefs, his more or less naked body partly covered by the sheets; she is fully dressed and lying atop of the sheets. A pretty sexy situation, and judging by the look on her face, he is not the only one thinking about what could happen next. Gillian devours him with her eyes. But when Cal's hand pulls at the infamous belt that started it all the previous night, she gently stops him.

"I have to go. For now," she adds when she sees the disappointment in his eyes.

"Why?"

He can't stop touching her. His hands do it of their own accord – caressing her cheek, playing with a strand of her hair. Everything is new and exciting; Cal wants to learn everything about Gillian and he wants to start right now. She huddles her cheek against the palm of his hand, smiling happily. Cal can see her determination to leave begin to totter. Then her eyes darken and she sits up.

"Alec comes over in an hour to collect his stuff. I have to be there; he doesn't have a key anymore."

_Alec._ Cal never heard the name before but based on her facial expression and words, he knows immediately who she is talking about. _Her ex-fiancé. _

"Do you want me to come with you?" He doesn't mention her bruises albeit they are the main reason for his question and concern. Cal needs to make sure that Gillian is safe – emotionally as well as physically.

She shakes her head. _No_. "I have to do this alone."

Frankly, he didn't expect anything else. "Give me your phone." Gillian feels for it in her purse and hands it over to him. Cal keys in something. "That's my cell and that's..." He keys in some more. "...my landline. Now you have it all. My name, my address, my phone numbers. I'm as good as yours."

The look in her eyes changes and he can tell she is about to say something but then only kisses him much too fleetingly, softly pushing him away when he holds on to her. Her lips taste illegally sweet.

"I really have to go."

"Aye." Cal eventually defers. "What about breakfast or coffee? 'Cause we could have that together later if you want. Or lunch. Whatever you prefer."

Her smile is infectious. "A late breakfast would be perfect. I love coffee."

So that would be the first thing he learned about her. She likes coffee. No, not only likes. She _loves_ it. Probably unhealthily sugary and with lots of foam. Cal already learned things about Gillian when they had been talking during their undercover mission, but last night started a new calendar.

"Just call me when you're done and I'll meet you at your favorite place since I'm more the..." He makes a face. "...tea kind of fella. Can't offer you what you call coffee here."

So much for clichés. A Brit who drinks tea. He probably also eats beans on toast. As charming and sexy as he is, it is most likely safer to take in their first joint breakfast at a place of her choice. "I'll call you." Gillian holds his gaze and Cal can tell that she is waiting for something. She is about to walk out all the same when his words stop her.

"Oh, um, in case you're waiting for me to ask you for _your_ number. I already have it."

Gillian turns around. "You mean my office landline number."

"Yeah, well, _that_ and your private phone numbers. And your address." His voice gives away that Cal is equally proud and self-conscious.

It takes Gillian a moment to understand. There is no way he could have found out from her contact details that are accessible at work – they don't include private information – and her phone numbers and address are not listed in any public phone directory either. Then again, this is the man who hacked into a security system to show her the feed of a surveillance camera. It probably wasn't much of an effort for him to find out. It's as flattering as intrusive.

Bloody hell. That micro expression wasn't good. She is slightly put off. "You could have just asked me," Gillian states.

"Does it make a difference if I tell you that I'm a little shy?"

By this time, Gillian knows how Cal emphasizes certain words with his voice and facial expression. As an expert in reading micro expression, he probably is used to fool people all the time about the actual meaning of his words. But not her.

"Apology accepted," she says.

"What? No make-up kiss?" he shouts when she leaves the room.

Cal can't be sure, but he thinks he heard her mumble something that strangely enough sounded like him being _impossible_. He must have misheard that.

* * *

Cal's assumption was right. Gillian's choice to have breakfast is a place where Cal voluntarily would never have anything. Not even tea. They serve ridiculous dishes called _sweet nothing_ or _soul mantra_ and Gillian seems to love everything about it. It's not far from where she lives. The way the waiters greet her displays that she is a regular albeit usually accompanied by someone else the way they ogle him. Since they are near Gillian's apartment, Cal was tempted to pick her up so that he could check on her (and get a glimpse of Alec) but decided against it. Even if he didn't like to abstain from being at her side while her ex was collecting his stuff, invading Gillian's privacy, something he had done before by hacking into her personal information, is a mistake Cal doesn't intend to repeat.

She orders what apparently is her favorite breakfast and he orders something that has a faint resemblance to food. Ok then. He didn't come here to eat. Good thing that he already had beans on toast at home.

"Everything settled?" he asks her.

"Yeah." Gillian takes a deep breath. She is tense, has a hard time relaxing. "At least for today. Alec will come back with a van another time to get his furniture."

Cal understands her tenseness. He can't help being distracted by her appearance though. It is the first time he sees her in casual clothes. She has changed into jeans and a shirt, her hair tied back in a ponytail.

"What?" She caught him looking.

"Thought you'd be in more formal wear even on the weekends," he admits.

"Sorry to disillusion you." Her ironic smile and words are followed by a seductive look.

Cal can tell that she is curious as to what he thinks about her and eager to find out what he does or does not like in general as well as specifically, but she would never condition her self esteem on it.

"I like it," he says. "Another side of you. Every bit as beautiful."

Gillian blushes. However, she holds his gaze. "And you are very charming and...," her voice trails off as she swallows.

"And what?"

She blushes even more. "Sexy."

His style of clothing matches hers. Jeans and a teeshirt. Short-sleeved. Somehow he knew she'd enjoy a flash of his tattoo every now and then.

"Oi! Is this the part where we tell each other our secret fantasies because I have _a lot_ I'd like to share with you."

Gillian leers and shakes her head. "You really _are_ impossible." Then her facial expression gets serious. "I don't know what part this is, Cal. In the movies, this is the part where the music starts to play and there are long walks on the beach and beautiful sunsets. In real life, I just broke up with my drug-addicted ex-fiancé and slept with you on our first date."

"That was a date? I haven't even seen you naked."

She can't suppress another smile, but it doesn't reach her eyes this time. "You didn't react to my earlier allusion to your work." Gillian lowers her voice. "How does it take place? Are you on missions permanently? Do you even know when your next assignment will start?"

Cal realizes that he never had to explain what he does to someone else before. Most people simply doesn't know. Even his family only knows that he has to make _many, long business trips_ that sometimes entail that he can't be contacted for a while. His ex-wife, Zoe, for sure drew the right conclusion. She never addresses it, though, and Cal is thankful for it. He gave her an emergency number in case something happens to Emily and she can't reach him so that she can contact his superiors and they can locate him.

He is not undercover constantly. There are periods of time in between – some longer, some shorter – when he works from home, does research or counsels other teams. It's all a matter of what is required and where his abilities fit in best.

Gillian absorbs the information, not missing a word.

"How long have you been doing this?"

"Three years."

"And you started..."

"...after my divorce."

His eyes dare her to comment on that, but she doesn't. As a psychologist, Gillian could explain in detail to him why he chose to work undercover right after his marriage had failed. But Cal is an intelligent man; he already knows.

"How long was the longest interval you didn't have to go undercover?"

"Half a year."

"And the longest interval you were undercover?"

"A year."

It's like a puzzle. She puts the pieces together and the more she sees of the overall picture, the more Cal can tell she doesn't like it.

"Not much time to enjoy walks on the beach and sunsets together," he states saddened.

"You made a conscious choice when you decided to work undercover."

There is so much Gillian _doesn't say_ that Cal doesn't even know where to begin. Perhaps with this one brief reflection he saw, "You wonder if I ever thought about dropping out."

She starts to shake her head negating but ends up nodding, confirming his observation. However... "I have no business asking you such a question," she says.

"See?" He points a finger at her. Impolite but effective. Works like a charm every time; he has her full attention. Not that he didn't have it before. "That's the difference between you and... _other women_." Other women as in _women he usually sleeps with, _they both know what he means. "You don't make demands; you _are_ demanding. _Sophisticated _even."

"What are you trying to say?"

"I'm not only _trying_; I'm _saying_ that I didn't have a reason to think about dropping out before. Not after my divorce and with Zoe and Emily living overseas. _But_..." Cal spreads out his arms, almost pushing a passing waiter down, and leans forward. "...under certain circumstances I _would_ think about it. More than just think, actually."

Gillian didn't intend to direct the conversation towards this. She meant it when she told him that it is none of her business. Albeit what he suggests makes her happy, she can't escape the feeling that everything is too rushed.

"You are no fling, Gillian," Cal's words are urgent; most likely he saw her uncertainty. If this..." He waves his hand back and forth between them. "If this means something, then I will think about dropping out."

She is overwhelmed with emotions and almost panicking at the same time. "Cal... This..." Gillian searches for appropriate words. "Last night was wonderful. Yet, we don't know what it means. I don't want you to..."

"But you want it to mean something," he interrupts her.

Gillian looks at him, wondering how it is possible. She met him only a couple of weeks ago; she slept with him only last night. And yet... "Yes." Anything else would be a lie.

"Then let's find out." Cal leans across the table and kisses her.

Let the bloody waiters know for sure that he is the new guy at her side.

* * *

A coincidence is defined as a remarkable concurrence of events or circumstances without apparent causal connection. Some people will tell you, though, that there is no such thing as a coincidence, that everything happens for a reason.

When Cal and Gillian leave about an hour later, a man bumps into Gillian. The man apologizes and Cal checks his facial expression to be sure that his apology is sincere. Cal has never seen the man before and is so focused on Gillian, putting his arm around her shoulders, that he has already forgotten about the incident when they step out in the sunlight. Just a face in the crowd. Therefore he misses the moment when the man recognizes him. The man doesn't know Gillian and was, indeed, sorry for bumping into her unwittingly. He knows Cal, though, even if Cal doesn't know him.

The man gets his phone out and dials. "You won't believe who I just saw," he says when someone at the other end of the line answers, only barely able to suppress the excitement in his voice. "The dirty bastard is alive and kicking."

* * *

**- To be continued -**

Thank you for reading & even more for reviewing (if you feel like it). It's most appreciated.


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